


ashes to ashes, dust to...

by fluffywonder



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bechdel Test Fix, Bechdel Test Pass, Canonical Character Death, Civil War Team Iron Man, F/M, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Some characters only mentioned, but mostly no bashing, not SHIELD friendly, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffywonder/pseuds/fluffywonder
Summary: When more than half your life has revolved around a single person, what do you do when they’re no longer there between one day and the next?Or:Post-Endgame Pepper feels.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 154





	ashes to ashes, dust to...

**Author's Note:**

> I admit I’ve completely ignored my other stories these past few weeks to wrangle this instead. This thing demanded to be written and wouldn’t let me go until it was just right... I hope you like it.

It’s just them, now. 

The others have left, all the well-wishers and mourners and acquaintances and everyone who had known either Tony or Iron Man. 

No one who had known only Tony Stark the businessman had been present – ass-kissing politicians had not been invited, and neither had any power-hungry sharks from the corporate sector. 

Pepper supposes the press’s absence coincides neatly with the mysterious reappearance of Nick Fury, and the thought fills her with a vindictive _fury._ It’s the least the bastard can do, after everything. 

Rhodey has just left, mumbling something about securing the stones and making sure everything at the compound is okay. 

She eyes Rhodey off somberly and shakes his hand, watches as he shakes his head and pulls her into a hug. 

She doesn’t want to be angry, but she is. Even now, Rhodey is more concerned with _doing his duty,_ instead of mourning his friend. His supposed best friend. His brother in all but name. Pepper knows she’s being unfair, and petty, and small, but she thinks it anyway. Her thoughts are _hers;_ they are all she has left and the universe can’t take them from her too. She wonders if Rhodey, Rhodey with his staunch sense of right and wrong, of duty and honor, will hang out with her more now, or less, with Tony gone. 

Happy had given her a heavy pat on the shoulder, the look in his eye telling her he will be there for whatever she needs, but that he also knows her well enough to know she needs space at that moment. 

She is unendingly grateful for Happy’s presence, his patience, his kindness. Happy will be there, no matter what, she knows. He always has been, even when he didn’t have a reason to be, even when he shouldn’t have been. He is her friend as much as he was Tony’s, and in this, especially, Pepper knows Happy will help like he always has. 

The boys had left too – May Parker had taken Peter back to Queens, back to an apartment he had known his entire life. Pepper had offered to let him stay, along with May, knowing Tony had loved that boy like a son, knowing Tony would have wanted him to stay, but both the Parkers had refused, kindly stating that she should have her space. 

It should bother her, Pepper knew, people trying to make decisions for her, as if they knew what was best for her, but it didn’t. Not in this case, at least, because while May had gently said that _Pepper_ should have her space, she had clearly meant that she and Peter needed their own space too. Seeing that Peter was still practically catatonic with the day’s events, Pepper hadn’t pushed, had just reminded them both that they always had a space at the cabin as well, and then had handed over the unlock codes to the private quinjet she and Tony had always kept cloaked on the property. 

Harley had disappeared soon after, idly saying that he would make his own way back. He hadn’t specified a location, and Pepper hadn’t asked. She honestly didn’t think he’d had much to go back home to, even before Thanos, but she didn’t say so. She felt uncomfortable watching him walk away into the distance, like she was failing Tony by not trying harder, fighting tooth and nail to keep these kids he had loved so much here, with her, but she didn’t have any fight left in her. Not today. Not without Tony. He’d always been the one to bring out the strongest fight in her, and he wasn’t here. 

So now, it’s just them – her and Morgan. She isn’t sure how much Morgan really understands about what’s going on. She’s an extremely intelligent child, more perceptive than either of her parents at that age, and the heavy look in her eye implies a sort of understanding, but death is a hard concept for most adults, never mind a young girl who had just heard her holographic father say _I love you 3000_ as if it’s just another night and he’s tucking her into bed as usual. 

She had asked Happy earlier for cheeseburgers in memory of Tony, but that just meant Morgan understood that today was about daddy, that today was a big deal. It didn’t mean she understood that daddy was – that daddy wasn’t coming back. 

Whatever else it had meant, Pepper thinks, at least the cheeseburgers meant that Morgan had eaten dinner and that she wouldn’t have to try and find the energy to cook something. 

So now she sits, in the half-darkened basement, surrounded by the tools of Tony’s trade, the wires and welding torches and pieces of scrap metal littering every available space. The Iron Man helmet that aired Tony’s last words to them still lies face-up, untouched since the message flickered out. 

By her side, Morgan shifts, stretching out a little. 

“Do – “ Pepper coughs, has to clear her throat, but it doesn’t matter. All her words come out sounding rough anyway. “Do you want to go to bed?” Pepper doesn’t know in the slightest what answer she’s hoping for – on the one hand, having her daughter, here, close, safe, is all she wants. On the other, she wants her own private space to sort out her thoughts, even if that goal feels entirely futile. 

Morgan shifts next to her again, so that she is suddenly looking right at Pepper with those dark, expressive eyes. Tony’s eyes. They had always been his best feature, and Pepper had been beyond thrilled that Morgan had inherited them. 

“Can I have a juice pop?” Morgan blinks slowly. 

Pepper doesn’t know why the words suddenly make her want to cry. She is not a crier; she never has been. She had never cried at any of the funerals of her grandparents, or her aunts and uncles. She has rarely ever cried at all. 

“I – “ Pepper wants to say something about it being too late for dessert, that Morgan could have one tomorrow, but the words clog up her throat and won’t come out. _What is the goddamn point,_ Pepper thinks viciously, _of any of it? Who the hell even cares if a child eats an extra juice pop too close to bed time? What the hell does any of it_ matter? 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. You can – one, Morgan. Just one.” 

Morgan nods, slowly, and shuffles off upstairs. Pepper should go with her, she knows, should keep her daughter in her sight at all times. The threat is gone and the world is safe, she _knows_ that, but she also knows from years of hard experience that there is always another threat, always something else out there, and that people died, and sometimes, they didn’t come back, and there was nothing remotely _safe_ about that. 

For the first time all day, she wants to grab Morgan, pack up a suitcase, and just _leave._ People, misinformed, mistaken people, would say that Pepper was trying to run away from the memories, but really, Pepper knows she just wants to go somewhere that would be _safe_ for her and Morgan. Like the tower. Pepper still owned the tower; Tony had told her to sell it but she hadn’t, she had never been able to make herself sell their first baby together, and Tony had known that too and had never said anything about it. But the Tower didn’t feel safe anymore, either; it hadn’t felt safe for a long time, not for either her or Tony, not since JARVIS had... died. 

Pepper feels the tears gathering, and she is just so incredibly thankful that JARVIS hadn’t been there to watch Tony go at the end. JARVIS had been Tony’s oldest friend, second only to the man he had been named after. Not even Rhodey, certainly not Pepper herself, had ever occupied that special pocket of space in Tony’s heart that had always been reserved for JARVIS, the best and brightest of all of Tony’s children, the first to be a friend, mentor, child, equal, partner to Tony in every single way. Pepper is sure JARVIS would have wanted to be there, at the end, is sure Tony would have _wanted_ JARVIS there, at the end, but Pepper is just glad that JARVIS doesn’t have to bear the same pain she is feeling now. Pepper hopes that wherever Tony is, he has found JARVIS – both Jarvises – and that he is happy. If there’s nothing else left, she will take the hope, at least, that Tony has found, and has allowed himself the peace that he never truly embraced in life.

A small hand nudges her suddenly, and Pepper looks up from where she has been contemplating her folded hands in silence all this time. Morgan has reappeared, holding a juice pop in each small hand. 

“You looked sad, mom,” she says, slowly again. “Juice pops will make it better.” Morgan nudges at her again. 

Pepper laughs, a small, horrible, teary sort of sound. “You’re right,” she manages with some difficulty. “You’re right. Juice pops will make it better.” 

“I got you grape. Grape is for when you’re sad,” Morgan says, already licking the top off of her own purple pop. 

Pepper takes the other juice pop and just holds it upright. “And what’s for when you’re happy?” 

Morgan cocks her head just slightly to the left, the same way Tony always had when he had been giving serious consideration to a question or an idea or a thought. 

“Lime,” she finally declares, biting off half of her juice pop in one go. 

Pepper laughs again. “Okay. That sounds about right,” She just continues to watch as Morgan takes another few minutes to demolish her juice pop. 

“All done!” A cheerful note has returned to Morgan’s voice, only striking Pepper now that it had been missing all day. 

“Okay. Head to bed, get changed please. I’ll be right up.” God, she will have to put her child to bed, and she doesn’t even know how. Tony had always done bedtime. It had been their... thing. 

Morgan nods, cocking her head to the side again. Pepper waits patiently for Morgan to come out with whatever she is thinking, but to her surprise, the child only smiles and skips off upstairs. 

Shaking her head, Pepper turns her attention back to her own juice pop, only to find that it has half-melted in sticky trails all over her wrist. She sighs, bringing it up and finishing what is left of it anyway. 

She wonders if juice pops are meant to taste that salty. 

*** 

The peace that washes across the earth in the wake of Thanos’ destruction only lasts so long before villains start re-emerging from the woodwork. Creating havoc and chaos and destruction is just what villains do, and creating trouble when the world is still so fragile after such upheaval is actually quite tactically smart. It almost provides Pepper with an odd sense of relief that the world is not hung in suspended animation anymore, that the status quo is returning. 

The first time a reporter dares to ask her whether she will be helping to save the world in her RESCUE suit, that relief turns into rage so swiftly that it almost burns Pepper up in the process. 

It is a press conference for Stark Industries philanthropy, because as much as she would like to lock herself up in her house forever, there is still a world that is struggling, and she still owns the company that can help so many people put themselves to rights. She had grown unbearably attached to the company long before it became a symbol of Tony’s legacy, and she’s not going to abandon this corporate baby that she considered to be partially hers. Definitely more than 12% hers. 

She doesn’t know why she hadn’t been expecting it; she definitely should have in hindsight, but the question manages to blindside her completely. 

_“Ms. Potts – ”_ the reporter starts, bold and confident as they always are at the beginning until Pepper has her way with them – _“Ms. Potts, will you continue to assist in saving the world in your RESCUE suit, now that the Avengers are down Iron Man?”_

Down Iron Man. Tony had said _I am Iron Man,_ and the world had taken it to heart. Like his worth was all wrapped up in Iron Man’s availability. Not even Tony had understood that he wasn’t _only_ Iron Man until he had held Morgan in his arms for the very first time. 

_“No,”_ she answers. She waits for the inevitable. 

_“The world is still in chaos! It’s still broken, and with new villains every day, don’t you think you owe the world your services?”_

Pepper has heard some variation of this question since the day she started as Tony Stark’s PA. The only difference is that before, it had always been directed at him, and now, it’s her cross to bear too. 

_“The world is in chaos, yes, and I will help the world however I can. There are many things I can do to help the world, and the charity we are holding a press conference for now is only one of those ways. SI will continue rolling out new technology that will better the quality of life of many people worldwide. Our medical innovation team is currently making all sorts of progress, as is our clean energy expansion initiative. That is the extent of my contribution, of SI’s contribution. The world’s problems are not mine to fix alone. I invite all other corporations, government-sanctioned and otherwise, to step up and do their part, instead of expecting SI to indiscriminately and singlehandedly clean up the mess that a mad titan made. As for my contributions, they will be done without the aid of a suit of armor. There are licensed, sanctioned first responders, law enforcement, police force, fire departments, military, that can do the job my suit of armor can do. Let them deal with terrorist threats, as they have been trained to do. Let them continue to protect the world, as they are meant to do. I will thank you to remember that I have not had any formal training, that I am a civilian, and that I only assisted on the battlefield while_ _fighting Thanos_ _because I_ volunteered _to. My days of volunteering to help with a physical fight are at an end. SI, as an organization, will continue to help however possible.”_

The vultures are quiet for maybe a whole five seconds. 

_“But Ms. Potts! Isn’t it the Avengers’ fault that Thanos came to earth? Don’t you owe the earth your part in cleaning up the aftermath?”_

_“Like I said, I’m doing my part to help with all the resources at my disposal as SI’s CEO. And if I may, I was never a part of the Avengers,”_ Pepper says, sharper than she’s sure her PR team would appreciate. “ _And in any case, you are mistaken._ _Thanos_ _came to wipe out half the population of Earth because he was a tyrant and a madman. The Avengers did not invite him, and_ _Thanos_ _has admitted to wiping out half of other planets that did not house the Avengers.”_ The UN already had Gamora and Nebula’s statements about their foster father on record, not that they were available for the press to interrogate. “ _I will remind you that without the Avengers,_ _Thanos_ _would simply have decimated half of Earth and walked away. At least the Avengers fought. They gave the Earth a fighting chance, and figured out a way to bring all of you back. Maybe a little appreciation and gratitude wouldn’t go amiss. If a Thanos-level threat comes again, I will be happy to suit up. Until then, like I said, let our local, unenhanced heroes carry the load for a while. Let me also remind you that in the wake of_ _Thanos_ _, the Avengers do not exist as a sanctioned team at this time. They do not have government permission to operate as missionaries of the law._ _Thanos_ _was a global-level threat; an exception if you will. Outside of such global-level, all-encompassing threats, the affairs of vigilantes are not my concern.”_

Tony had been right. Sometimes, it was better to just cut the wire. She wonders if Rhodey will be angry with her, if Tony would have been proud. She wonders why it matters what anyone thinks; Pepper will do what is best for the family she has left, and fuck anyone who tries to tell her differently. 

The inevitable question comes, and Pepper’s only surprised it hadn’t been asked sooner. 

_“But wouldn’t Mr. Stark have wanted you to step up and do whatever you could? He became Iron Man to help! Wouldn’t he have wanted you to be a hero?”_

Oh, yes. Since Tony had died, there had constantly been someone or other trying to dictate her actions by telling her that Tony would want her to do this or Tony would have done that, so, by extension, so should she, and so on. It was manipulation at its lowest, worst form, and Pepper was too good, too strong, to be fooled by such transparent attempts. Tony would have fallen for it, to some extent, just a little too eager to please, just a little too eager to live up to impossible double standards, but Pepper knew exactly who she was, and Tony had known it too, had loved her for it – she didn’t have anything to prove to anyone. 

_“I believe I know what Mr. Stark would have wanted far better than you do,”_ Pepper begins delicately, twisting her wedding ring deliberately on her finger so that it caught the light, letting the reminder speak the words she would not say out loud: _he was my husband, not yours – what claim do you think you have over him?_

That was the problem, she thinks. The world had always sought an irrational and undeserved claim over Tony, and for reasons known only to himself, he had allowed it long after he had been obligated to. 

She wouldn’t. 

_“Let me remind you, again,”_ Pepper glances out pointedly into the crowd, seeing a few of the reporters shuffle anxiously in place, “ _that there are many ways to be a hero, and not all of those ways involve a suit of armor made of metal alloy. Mr. Stark would have wanted me to help however I could, yes, and I can certainly help far more effectively from my position as CEO of SI than I could as a single person in a suit of armor. What Tony wanted most, however – ”_

Pepper has to take a breath here. It’s not an accident that she’s using Tony’s first name for the first time during this dog and pony show, but it still hurts, to use it in front of people that don’t care for the line, for the divide between Mr. Stark and _Tony._ Tony was hers, but more than that, Tony had been – 

_“What Tony wanted most of all, in this world, for his family to be safe, and for his daughter, Morgan, to grow up happy and cherished and loved. Howard Stark was well-loved and respected by the American public. It is well-known that he was a brilliant inventor for his time, and that he was a decent enough person.”_ Pepper pauses for a second, knowing Tony would have hated what she is about to say, would have stopped her at any cost, would have been angrier than he had ever been with her in life. But that is the point: Tony is no longer alive, so she will do what she thinks best, and she will do what she must, as she always has, to protect everything that is hers, everything that she is left with. Doing what’s best, even when it comes at a personal cost, is something Tony would have understood better than anyone, once he got over his justifiable anger. 

_“It’s less well-known, at least for a fact, despite the many rumors swirling around, that Howard Stark was a terrible father.”_ She doesn’t bother softening the blow; blunt is best, and she will gladly rip up the memory of one dead man to protect the legacy of another. “ _Howard Stark was a terrible father, and Tony’s greatest wish in life was to not end up like him if he ever had children. And he was lucky enough to have Morgan – we both were, and I still am lucky enough to have her, and keeping her safe, and healthy, and making sure she was safe and loved was why we moved out, away from New York. In the last few years, seeing his family safe and loved and healthy was all Tony really cared about. These wishes that Tony held closest to his heart, for Morgan to have the best life possible, and to have the best parents, or parent, possible, are the ones that I will wholeheartedly be honoring now. These are the wishes I will be honoring first and foremost. Everything else is secondary, including what I may or may not owe the rest of the world. The first person I owe my love and help and devotion and attention to is my daughter, who has just lost her father.”_

The other person Tony would want her to take care of is herself, but she cannot say that out loud, here, without sounding utterly selfish. The world does not care that she is grieving too, that she has just lost her husband, the man she had come to love despite, and because of, everything, but she also knows that the world is still raw and bleeding enough that it will be sympathetic to a young child who never asked for any of this. 

And if the only thing Pepper has done here is secure Morgan’s privacy and independence and safety, to an extent, then that would be enough, but Pepper also knows that she has done far more than that. She has managed to nail many problems with just one press conference. She has reminded the world just how far she will go to protect her daughter, and she knows that the fire in her eyes and speech will keep even the hardest of haters in line for at least a while. She has explained, quite effectively, to the press exactly why she will not continue to pilot the RESCUE suit on a regular basis, and not a reporter in the world could ask her about it again, not without sounding completely heartless and getting sued to the seventh circle of hell. If anyone brought up the subject again, they would sound like they wanted their RESCUE at the expense of the safety, security, comfort, and emotional well-being of a five-year-old child, and no one else would be sympathetic to that particular soundbite when everyone was still healing from losing or being lost. And Steve Rogers and his vigilante gang could not pressure her into joining the Renegade Avengers as air support for whatever bullshit they planned to do next – they could not even use the excuse that by not putting on RESCUE, she was somehow tarnishing Tony’s memory, since she had made it very clear exactly where Tony’s priorities had lay and exactly what actions would best honor his memory. On top of that, she had made it more or less explicitly clear that there was no love lost between her and the Rogue Avengers, and that she would not be supporting them in any capacity – and the best part was that no one could call her out on it without once again sounding like a terrible person themselves – who in their right mind expects a mother to support former fugitives, financially or emotionally or otherwise, when her own young, grieving daughter needs her so much? And, well, if Pepper has encouraged local law enforcement to step up, and if she has encouraged governments to consider whether it’s _really_ necessary to have unchecked, unrestrained, unsupervised superheroes muddying the waters when the world is turning as normal and the threats are manageable, then Pepper just considers that her civic duty. 

Pepper is using Morgan to meet her own ends, it’s true. She’s well aware that Tony would have been horrified to see her using their daughter as a bargaining chip, at least in the moment, but needs must, and in the end, she is only doing it to support and protect her daughter. Tony would have understood it and grudgingly agreed with it in the end, much as he would have hated it. Truth be told, she hated it too, and unlike many people she could name, Pepper does like to live by honesty, and she fully intends to offer Morgan the truth as soon as she thinks her daughter is capable of understanding what it really means to be a public figure. For now, the truth is that Pepper would rather offer up the _idea_ of a grieving Morgan to keep the vultures at bay, instead of allowing them to get so close that they ripped directly into Morgan, or into the life they had built for themselves. 

The agreement of leniency she has bought from the world is tentative at best, but Pepper will milk it for all it’s worth, because she knows as well as anyone else now that you have to make the most of what you have while you still have it. After all, half your world could turn right to dust or ashes at any time. 

*** 

One by one, over time, some of them come back. 

She flies in late from New York one night, where she had been forced to attend some meetings that she couldn’t just teleconference into. She’s starting to understand Tony’s reluctance to deal with the bullshit of some of these meetings a little better now, but part of being a grown-up means doing things you don’t like, so even if she could, Pepper wouldn’t be inclined to give him a lot of slack. She arrives back at the lakeside cabin when it’s already dark enough that only the tiny twinkling LED lights she and Tony had put up one Christmas all over the outside of the house are still visible. As soon as she enters the front door, she is met by Happy in the hall, and gives him her best raised eyebrow when she spots the extra pair of beat-up looking sneakers that have been tossed down casually by the doormat. 

“Spider-kid,” is all Happy grunts out in her direction as he takes her suitcase from her and puts it away in the hall closet, knowing very well her penchant for orderliness. 

“He came back?” She keeps her voice low as she hangs up her coat and moves into the living room. The fireplace is lit and the low light is playing across the walls. 

“Yeah. Called me this afternoon, asked if he could come up. I sent the quinjet, told him he could bring his aunt if he wanted – “ 

Pepper just raises another eyebrow as Happy breaks off. Is she imagining it, or is Happy blushing? Tony would not have missed the opportunity to tease and poke and prod and make jokes here, but Pepper is not Tony, so she just lets it go with a soft smile. 

“Anyway. Yeah, he’s here. Sleeping, now. I offered him the spare room.” Saying that, Happy looks slightly uncomfortable, as if he’d crossed a line without permission and was now checking that what he’d done had been okay. 

“Happy, it’s fine. I’m glad you asked him to stay. I’m glad he came. Did he say why?” She moves over to the wet bar Tony had insisted on installing in the corner of their living room, selecting a whiskey she’d once drank with him. She used to hate whiskey before she met Tony, and her hate for it had only intensified as she’d watched him during his party boy days. She’d only come around to the drink once half the world had turned into dust, and they had uprooted their lives to the middle of nowhere. Now, she just finds it funny that she seems to be picking up where he left off, finishing all the half-opened bottles he left behind. She’s no therapist, but if she were to see one, they would surely have a field day with the way Tony is still unintentionally guiding so much of her life, the way he had when he’d still been alive. 

“No,” he grunts, as he follows her and sits on the other end of the couch from where she has settled, staring into the fireplace. “Figured he just needed to get away.” 

When her eyes slide over to his form, Happy isn’t looking back at her. He’s just staring absently into the fire as well. She wants to ask how he’s coping, but she can’t. She doesn’t feel right prying, and she doesn’t feel like she has the energy for it. It makes her feel like a bad friend, like she’s letting Happy down, but she’s already got so much. She’s got at least one kid that depends on her, and tonight, she’d come home to another. And she’s got a company to run. She’s still good at managing everything, organizing all the various parts of her life so they work harmoniously, but it used to be easier. It used to feel effortless. She wonders if it feels harder now because Tony wasn’t around to help anymore, or if it’s because of something else. It's hard enough to hold on to herself and on to the things she must, that she feels like she doesn’t have time for other people. She doesn’t have it in her to give Happy the attention he deserves. The last time she spoke to Rhodey, it was over text, and it had felt perfunctory, like they had no idea how to talk to each other anymore. 

Suddenly, she feels like she’s just... failing. The company is doing well, and Morgan is healthy and okay and safe, and all the other people in her life are goddamn adults – if they need her help for anything, they’ll just _ask._ Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine. It’s _fine._ So why is it that she feels like such a failure? She feels like she’s just been failing as a friend, as a mother, as a businesswoman... she feels like she’s just failing as a person. 

She wonders if this is how Tony had felt all the time. It was just one more thing she’d never understood about him until he’d already died – what it felt like to carry around a guilt and a feeling of failure that made absolutely no logical sense, that you couldn’t explain to anyone. 

Without her conscious input, her eyelids start drooping. Happy notices right away – of course he notices. He’s always been a better head of security than anyone ever realized, observant to a fault but content to play the bumbling, amiable, slightly paranoid-seeming meathead because Tony had taught them all long ago that in the world of business, the most dangerous enemy is the one that is underestimated. 

Tony had taught them all so many things without ever even meaning to. Pepper thinks Tony should have taken some of his own lessons to heart much more; he could have saved himself so much pain and heartache if he’d just maintained the same ruthlessly practical perspective outside of the boardroom.

That just hadn’t been Tony, though. He couldn’t hold a true grudge to save his life. He became bitter over time, and he became resigned, and sometimes he became cold, but he rarely ever stopped truly caring. He always gave too much of himself, long after it made sense to stop. It had been the worst thing about Tony – but Pepper could admit that it had also been one of the best parts of him.

It doesn’t matter now, though, who Tony had been and who he hadn’t. In the end, none of it had mattered. No matter who he had or hadn’t been, he had loved her, she had loved him. Over time, they’d come to compromise on and even celebrate their differences, and they had gotten married, and then they’d had a child, and then he’d gone to space, and then he had saved the world. 

And then he had died. 

And then he had died, and left her all alone, is her last coherent, conscious thought as she starts to drift into sleep right there on the couch, barely feeling it as Happy plucks her drained whiskey glass out of her lax fingers, stretches out her legs over the sofa, and covers her with an old afghan. The afghan had been Tony’s favorite. Once upon a time, it had smelled like it had been through the wars, scenting like the oddest mix of motor oil and grease and blended whiskey. Pepper could also remember the thin layer of cologne that had underpinned the entire thing, because Tony would get back late from mandatory meetings in New York during the first couple of years they had lived in the cabin, and he would just curl up under the afghan without even bothering to strip off his suit. It had also smelled slightly sour at one point, in the places where baby spit up and formula had soaked into the fabric because Tony used to sit on the couch with the damn thing tucked over his shoulders while he tried to bottle-feed Morgan. 

The afghan didn’t stink of any of that anymore. Pepper hadn’t even been able to look at it, in the days following the funeral. She had wanted to burn the damn thing, and had very nearly called up her stable, dormant Extremis to help her with the task. She’d only been stopped by Rhodey, who had put a hand on her arm, calm and placid as ever, and told her not to make a hasty decision. Told her not to do something she might end up regretting, because there was no time travel that would fix this. 

She’d sulked horribly, been angry at Rhodey, had spat words at him she could barely remember, but in the end, what she does remember is that she hadn’t burnt it, had let Extremis sink back underneath her skin as she’d scooped the blanket up and tossed it into the washer. 

Pepper can’t decide if it’s worse or better than the afghan is still there, sitting on the couch like always, ready to welcome her back home after a long day, but now it just smells like the detergent she likes to keep stocked. 

Pepper does decide that she probably owes Rhodey a phone call, tomorrow. That it’s her turn to make some of the effort. 

*** 

In the morning, Happy is dishing up breakfast when she finally wakes – when on earth had Happy learnt how to cook? 

Morgan launches herself at her, babbling a thousand miles a minute, _Mommy I did this yesterday, and Gerald, he –_

She smiles and squeezes her daughter close. 

She gives the spider-kid a look over the top of Morgan’s head, watching him shovel pancake after pancake into his mouth. 

“They’re blueberry,” he informs her, gesturing vaguely to the unoccupied chair across from him, where Happy is already plating her pancakes just the way she likes them. 

They’re blueberry. _Of course_ they’re blueberry. What else would they be? 

“Will you stay?” She’s surprised to note that she’s not just asking him if he wants to stay. She’s also asking him because _she_ wants him to stay. 

The brittle but honest smile she gets in response to her question tells her that the kid knows exactly why she asked. 

“Yeah. Aunt May’s busy with... well, yeah,” he clears his throat. “So I was wondering, if it was convenient, I mean, obviously... “ He trails off. He is so adorably awkward, it is absolutely no surprise that Tony had taken such a liking to him. 

“You’re always welcome here, Peter,” she says softly. “I mean that. _Always._ It’s good for Morgan to have her big brother around.” 

“Uh.” His eyes go adorably wide at the last statement, and Pepper can see Happy stuff his mouth with more pancakes. Apparently, Happy would rather choke on pancakes than his own laughter. 

“Morgan’s... “ the kid draws out the name hesitantly, and Pepper answers with a sad smile. 

“I said what I meant, Peter. I’ll get you a key to the place made so that you can swing by whenever you have the time. We can figure out the details, but this is your home too.” 

“Ms. Potts – you don’t have to – “ 

It’s cute that the kid still called her Ms. Potts. It’s not even that he was actively avoiding her married name; it’s just that Spider-boy had known her as ‘Ms. Potts’ before he’d known her as ‘Mrs. Potts-Stark', and it had just stuck. 

“It’s just an offer, Peter. Take me up on it as often as you like. No more, no less. And it’s Pepper, kid, how many times do I have to remind you?” 

Somehow, he got even more adorable as he blushed. “Pepper.” 

“Good,” she nodded, decisively. “Eat up. Big day today.” 

His eyes widened even more. “Big?” 

“The biggest,” she smirked, and refused to say another word as she finally tucked into her own breakfast. Her pancakes were a bit soggy, but she still felt like they were the best thing she’d eaten in ages. 

As she eats, she mentally apologizes to Tony. She’d just been assigning misplaced blame, last night, because holding someone responsible was how she knew best to deal with grief, and loss, and the unexpected, but Tony deserved better. He didn’t deserve to be blamed for something he hadn’t done, much like he’d always been blamed in life. She doesn’t want to be that person, either – she couldn’t make heads or tails of her emotions right now, which was fine and valid, but being a bitch and blaming others for her own feelings was only leaving her more and more tired each day, and she deserved better than that. Sitting here at a table of people she cares about all eating their own breakfast and chattering quietly to one another, she could clearly see what she’d been so unwilling to last night. 

Tony hadn’t died to hurt her, and he definitely hadn’t died and left her all alone. 

He’d left her with more people to love, and be loved by, than she’d ever had at any other point in her life. 

*** 

She tracks down Harley herself. She’s not sure why – she doesn’t know this kid, hadn’t even really known _of_ him before the funeral except in that vague sort of way that she knew of anyone Tony had managed to pull into his orbit. 

She remembers Tony whispering something about a potato gun, once, when he’d actually been lying right next to her in bed at a reasonable hour of night, instead of being holed up in his workshop like usual. Except it had been sometime soon after Killian had attacked them, and Extremis had still been singing through her blood, untempered and undiluted. Tony had still been working on stabilizing it, at that point, and he’d come up to the bedroom to tell her, excitedly, that he’d almost figured out the composition and that JARVIS was just going to run some tests overnight. She’d been listening to him babble on and on about a potato gun, and _this kid, Pep, this kid – we're connected, I swear –_ and she remembers she had just scrunched her eyes shut tighter, snapping out that she was tired and wanted to sleep and could he please just leave. 

She’d regretted it immediately as he’d snapped his mouth shut mid-word and left the room quieter than she’d ever heard him be, but she hadn’t regretted her outburst enough to call him back. She hadn’t been lying; she’d been tired, and stressed, and frightened – what if she exploded, what if she blew up the house, what if she hurt Tony because Extremis was so unstable, what if she could never be normal again – _what if, what if, what if._

She’d known, even then, that Tony hadn’t held her outburst against her, that he’d blamed himself instead, and that he’d probably thought that she blamed him too. 

He wouldn’t have been entirely wrong – a part of her _had_ blamed him, but she hadn’t known what exactly she was blaming him for. For being too flippant and callous and disregarding, maybe – she'd learned, eventually, how he’d behaved with Killian that fateful New Year’s night. For being brilliant and letting his work fall into the hands of his exes, maybe – and yes, she’d been jealous of Maya Hansen, she had to admit it. Maybe she’d been upset with Tony for finally dragging her into his world of superheroes and enhanced powers and explosions and danger and death, even though she’d stressed time and time again just how much she wanted to stay out of it. Maybe she blamed Tony for not quitting that world while he still could’ve. Maybe she just blamed herself for not quitting _Tony_ while she still could’ve. 

She’d spent a lot of time blaming Tony for being himself, and a lot of time blaming herself for being who she was, too. She’d made her peace with all of it eventually, because the alternative was to not be together, to end things forever, and at some point, the thought of that had become absolutely unfathomable. Even if Pepper hadn’t been the sort of person who liked to fix things (just, in a different way than Tony always had), Tony was just... he was _Tony._ Even then, before the marriage, before the pregnancy, he’d become such a huge part of her life that she hadn’t been able to imagine not having him in it, and clearly, he felt the same way. So, they’d tried. They’d talked about it, they’d had the uncomfortable conversations that they should have been having from the beginning, and they’d tried. They’d learned to make compromises that they’d both been incapable of making early in their relationship. Pepper couldn’t even remember when the compromises started feeling more like easy acceptance, but she does regret all the time she’d spent being angry. 

Once the anger had mostly passed and regret had taken its place, she’d spent a lot of time thinking, back then, that she wished she’d been there for Tony to rely on the way he’d been able to count on a little boy with a potato gun in the middle of nowhere. She’d sworn, then, to stick around, for real this time, and to be that person for him, and to give him the chance to be that person for her, too. And to his credit, he’d stepped up, for the world, but more importantly, for her and his daughter. And when he’d needed her to, she’d stepped up too, told him to work on time travel, to finish what he’d started instead of locking it up in a box and tossing it into the lake as he’d wanted. 

Now, she thinks she’d like to go looking for the boy with the potato gun who had unknowingly showed her the way to the happiest years of her life. 

She doesn’t know this kid, but she thinks she might like to. 

*** 

She finds him in Rose Hill, Tennessee – which makes sense, since that is where he’s grown up his entire life.

She asks Happy and Morgan to wait in the jet while she goes and speaks to the boy. Morgan had asked her why they were there. Pepper had jokingly answered that they were getting the band back together, much to the confusion of her daughter. 

Pepper swears she hears Tony laughing somewhere. 

She knocks on the front door, ignoring the voice in her head that told her Tony would have just let himself in (the latch did not look sturdy) and made himself at home. 

She wasn’t Tony. She wasn’t trying to be. 

_If you’re not trying to be him,_ the voice whispers, _then why are you here, collecting his lost kids like some prize at the end of a great treasure hunt?_

She tells the voice to go fuck itself as she stands on the front porch and waits. 

A woman who looks run off her feet answers the door, swiping her mousy brown hair away from her eyes, impatient scowl already sliding onto her face. Pepper figures there’s a story behind it, but she won’t ask. 

She watches the look on the woman’s face change to astonishment and then fear within seconds. 

“May I come in?” she inquires politely. 

“I – is – are you – “ 

“I’m Mrs. Potts-Stark, yes. May I?” 

“Yes! Oh, yes, sorry, please do come in.” She holds the door open wider and allows Pepper to pass her by and enter the cool interior of the small but neat house. 

The woman’s name is Willa Keener, mother to Harley and Kenzie. As Willa gets comfortable and notices Pepper looking around the house, she admits that the kids are back in school, but that work has been hard for her to find. The people were snapped back when Thanos was defeated, but diners that were destroyed in the aftermath of the original snap do not suddenly resurrect themselves as easily. 

It’s on the tip of Pepper’s tongue to offer the woman a job, but she curbs the impulse at the last moment. That’s not her style, never has been. She wouldn’t have ever wanted to be offered a job based on a sob story, and she doubts this woman does either, so instead, Pepper gently redirects the conversation to Harley. 

“He’s a smart kid, he has to be to have gotten Tony’s attention when he was just _ten._ And I’ve looked at some of his school reports. I’d like to suggest maybe having him intern at Stark Industries for the summer, get a feel for the program. Harley seems to be interested in mechanics and engineering as it is; he could really benefit from some knowledgeable attention to his projects.” 

Pepper is not lying, not really – the kid is smart and deserves the internship. He also deserves the opportunity to stay connected to Tony in death, if he wants it, but that’s a decision Pepper will leave up to Harley himself. And if, by doing this, Pepper feels that she is investing time and effort into one of the very best parts of the legacy Tony left behind, then, well, that’s between herself and Tony. 

Pepper drains the last drops of her tea as Willa is promising to talk to Harley about it and thanking her for the opportunity. 

“Don’t thank me. We’ve all been through a lot. Don’t thank me for being kind, for trying to keep the world from falling apart in my own way. We’ll need brilliant minds like Harley’s,” she says quietly. 

Willa just smiles knowingly. “I’ve always known he was destined for big things. I’ve just never been able to give him everything he really deserves. You can, and you will, and I’ll thank you for it for the rest of my life. I hope he’s everything we need him to be – and more.” 

Pepper elects to ignore the feelings that last sentence stirs up in her chest and politely just takes her leave. 

Harley shows up on her front porch the next morning, and behind him, she spies an old beat-up jeep. He has circles under his eyes that indicate a tiredness caused by something more than just driving all night, but Pepper won’t ask. In this house, they don’t ask. She just smiles, ushers him inside, and shows him to the bathroom. She points out the linen closet, tells him where the spare toothbrushes are, and asks him if he needs anything else. 

When he shakes his head in the negative, she just nods and tells him that after he’s showered, he can come and find her in the kitchen or the living room, or he can take a nap in the second guest room, if he’d like. 

She’s glad she’d pushed for the guest rooms, back when Tony had still been building the house (having it built, actually, by contractors paid so handsomely and wrapped up in so many legalities they wouldn’t dare open their mouths about whose house they were constructing). Tony had asked, at the time, who the hell she planned on inviting over, because the whole point of a secret house was to, well, keep it _secret,_ but Pepper had just pointed out that in their world, secrets didn’t last for long, and that someone would be visiting sooner or later, whether she and Tony liked it or not. She hadn’t said anything when Tony had very deliberately looked at a picture of Peter Parker on his phone for a long time before finally agreeing to add three guest rooms to a suddenly very large cabin that already boasted a master bedroom, a kitchen, and a basement that was quickly refurbished into a lab. One of those extra guest rooms had been long since converted into Morgan’s room, and the other two were now occupied, however temporarily, by two teenage boys. Happy gets the couch, whenever he spends the night. 

Tony would have loved it. 

*** 

“I’m surprised you’re not waiting inside to ambush me.” 

It’s only when she unlocks the cabin’s front door that Phil Coulson moves to follow her inside. 

“No ambushes here.” She wonders if the hesitation she hears at the end of the sentence is because Phil doesn’t know how to address her anymore. 

She texts Happy and asks him to spend some extra time in town for now, knowing that Happy won’t ask any questions. She includes the private code they use to let him know that she’s okay and she’s safe, but that she would like a little extra time alone. She doesn’t want to have to explain Coulson’s presence to Morgan, especially because he will not be staying long.

She hadn’t even known Phil was alive, and suspected Tony hadn’t either, or he would’ve been all over bringing Agent back to the Tower like white on rice. The spies might have known, though – Barton, and Natasha. If Rogers had known, it would’ve been just one more secret in a long line of them that he had kept from Tony. 

“Why are you here, Phil?” The words come out wearier than she’d like, but she’s been stuck in meetings all day and has only now returned from California and it is already late afternoon. She’d been looking forward to a quiet night in, but trust SHIELD, as always, to butt in and ruin things. 

“I’m not here on behalf of SHIELD,” he answers, taking a seat on the very edge of an easy chair. 

She doesn’t offer him anything to eat or drink, and by the look in his eyes, he doesn’t seem to miss it. 

“I just came to offer my condolences.” 

“There was an entire funeral for that,” she says, slowly. “It wasn’t open-invite, but your one-eyed comrade from SHIELD showed up anyway. I’m sure you could’ve hitched a ride along with him.” 

“I didn’t know I would’ve been welcome,” he answers, blinking. 

“You wouldn’t have been. Half the people at that funeral weren’t welcome, but they showed up anyway. I just didn’t have it in me to make a scene about it. I still don’t,” she says a bit sharply. She knows Phil will hear what she’s not explicitly saying. 

_You’re_ _not welcome now either, so get to the point._

Let it not be said that Phil Coulson is a stupid man. “There’s really no delicate way to phrase this, but I was wondering what will happen to Mr. Stark’s assets. Some of the technology he was in possession of is quite dangerous, you see – “ 

“No,” she cuts him off, quietly but with finality. She watches him blink once, twice, openly confused. 

“No what?” 

“No. The technology, as dangerous as it is, doesn’t hold a candle to some of the other dangerous things in the world. Like SHIELD. Like me, if SHIELD decides to come anywhere _near_ Tony’s intellectual property. It has all passed to me, all of it, except for what has passed to Rhodey and Happy, and they’re not going to let you get your hands on anything either. I certainly won’t give it up without a fight. And mind you, there _will_ be a fight. I am not Tony. I will not roll over and let you or anyone else from SHIELD, or outside of SHIELD, for that matter, cow me into submission. Your new baby-SHIELD has nowhere near the resources that I have at my disposal, and let me make my intent very clear: if you so much as think any further about coming after me and mine, I will come after everything you have and everything you are with extreme prejudice. The technology will not be misused, not from my end – that much, I can guarantee. In fact, I don’t intend to see any of Tony’s potentially dangerous inventions used at all – they should be buried with him, remembered but inaccessible, like he is. Maybe I’ll end up burning all the technology, or maybe I’ll put it in a lockbox and dump it in the lake. But letting _you_ have any of it so you can ostensibly protect it is out of the question. I think It's been well-established that giving SHIELD, or anyone affiliated with them, more power than they already have ends up proving extremely costly – I'm talking of HYDRA, of course,” she adds mockingly, cuttingly, as if HYDRA hadn’t been the least of SHIELD’s problems in the end, as if Phil and Fury hadn’t personally authorized the development of weapons based on tesseract energy.

“Of course,” Phil intones emotionlessly, ever the spy. “And what about Iron Man? I know you’ve made your stance on RESCUE perfectly clear.” 

“Retired. Iron Man is retired until such time as someone explicitly trusted by Tony chooses to take up the mantle for themselves. And if no one chooses to use the suit, then Iron Man is retired forever.”

“Someone like his daughter?” 

“Perhaps.” In truth, Pepper suspects that either Peter or Harley will revive and perfect and use the Iron Man armor again long before Morgan grows up and gets her hands on it, but those are her kids too, now, in a way, so it all comes out to the same.

The look she levels at Coulson now is full of heat. “Let me warn you that if you come near Morgan, there is no force on this earth that will be powerful enough to save you from me – and I’m only giving you this warning out of respect, Phil, because once upon a time, you helped save my life, and once upon a time, I could have actually considered you a friend. Quite frankly, if you go anywhere near Morgan, in _any_ way, there is no force in this entire _galaxy_ that is strong enough to protect you. Morgan’s grown quite fond of her Auntie Nebula, you see, and I’m sure the _Guardians of the Galaxy_ wouldn’t mind dropping by and paying a visit, if I were to make a call.” 

“Understood,” he acknowledges, looking honestly pained. At what, she can’t guess, and doesn’t care to. 

“Since secrets don’t stay that way for long, let me add that Spider-Man is under my care and protection as well, and you’re barred from going after him, too.” 

“As far as I’m aware, he already has an aunt who speaks for him legally, doesn’t he? And he’ll be an adult eventually, Pepper, making his own decisions,” Phil says mildly. 

“I’ve spoken to his aunt. She barely endorses his superhero gig in the first place; she won’t see him getting involved with a morally questionable intelligence agency. And when he is an adult, he’ll have the right to choose what to do and who to work with for himself, and I won’t be the one to get in his way. Until then, however, he’ll be considered off-limits.” 

Phil raises both hands in a tongue-in-cheek show of acquiescence. 

“Right now,” she continues less heatedly, “I have made my stance perfectly clear – I am not willing to help SHIELD, _or_ the Rogue Avengers, in any capacity. But I’m not making life difficult for anyone either right now, Phil. And I could – we both know I could. Right now, despite what unsavory pictures the press likes to paint of me, I have more capital and more goodwill with governments, military, _and_ the common man than I have _ever_ had. As the CEO of a hugely successful, revolutionary, multinational corporation that boasts some of the greatest philanthropic efforts worldwide, I have _always_ enjoyed a fairly sizeable amount of capital and power, but with his latest... stunt, Tony has bought me more goodwill than ever. Tony saved the world. He certainly didn’t do it alone, and he was not the only one to sacrifice himself, but he is the face of the team that saved the world from utter destruction. Perception is everything, Phil, you and I both know that too. Tony has become the people’s hero, and he will be seen that way for a long time to come. And I will capitalize on every single inch of goodwill and power and capital that affords me, if it helps me keep my family, biological and otherwise, safe from all harm. That includes shady intelligence agencies with agendas that no longer align with mine.” Pepper pauses for a moment, calculating her next words carefully. 

“You feared Tony, Phil. You feared what he represented. You feared what he could do, what he could be, if only he ever realized his full potential – that's why you manipulated him in the first place, isn’t it? To keep him down, keep him malleable, to exert a certain level of control over him so that he couldn’t just breeze right by you and leave you in the dust and cause complications for you in his wake. You fear _anyone_ having more power than you, but especially a man like Tony who’s unpredictable and revolutionary at best and destructive at worst. He’s not here anymore, but I’ll be the one to show you why you were right to fear him in the first place, should you misstep around the people I care about. I am not Tony, Agent Coulson, but I am just as dangerous as he was, and unfortunately for you, I have a far smaller guilt-complex than he did. I don’t care what else you do, as long as you do it away from me. There’s nothing for you here anymore.” 

“Understood.” This time, it’s said more softly, sadly, _regretfully._ Pepper doesn’t care. SHIELD, and anyone involved in any way with them, has long since run out of second chances when it comes to the Stark family. 

“Pass on the message to Fury, and to anyone else you think needs to know. Pass on the message to the Rogue Avengers as well. I won’t tolerate any games, Phil. I also won’t tolerate any more unwelcome, unsanctioned home visits. This warning was your first and last, and the next time, I will simply shoot first and ask questions later – literally, if I have to.”

“It shouldn’t have come to this,” is all he says, looking genuinely hurt. 

“It shouldn’t have,” she agrees, “but you reap what you sow. Karma usually comes back to bite. Pick whatever cliched phrase you would like, but the fact is, you made a lot of mistakes regarding both SHIELD and Tony, and me too – and it isn’t my fault that those mistakes are now coming back to bite you in the ass. I don’t owe it to you to make your life easier, I don’t owe you any absolution for your mistakes, and we’re not close enough or friendly enough for me to consider doing you a favor. And our lack of friendship is entirely your own doing. You made your bed, Phil.” 

“I should go,” is all he says in response, pushing himself off the chair. She walks him to the door. 

“Phil,” she says, just before he turns the doorknob. He half-turns, his expression mostly hidden by the shadows of the setting sun. 

She reaches out and carefully lays a hand on his arm. His suit jacket feels rough underneath her fingertips. 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” is what she says, offering him a half-smile. 

He nods, once, and then he’s gone. She knows it is the last time she will ever see him, and as far as closing conversations go, she thinks she got this one right. It had been a long time coming, but it should’ve been a conversation for Tony to have at a time when it would have meant more, made more of a difference. 

_Better late than never, Pep,_ he would say, like he always had when arriving late to whatever charity gala or black-tie event she had demanded his presence at, as she rushed around cleaning up after him. 

“I swear, Tony, this is the last time I’m cleaning up your messes,” she mutters, ignoring the lie that it is as she walks into the kitchen for a glass of water. She really hopes Happy had remembered to pick her up some more mint chocolate-chip ice cream while he’d been in town. 

*** 

She supposes Phil had passed on her message, because she never hears from Fury or the Rogue Avengers. She’s not surprised that Fury hasn't reached out – he's always been a mostly pragmatic man who knows when to cut his losses – but she is surprised that she hasn’t heard from the Rogues. They’ve always been unreasonably stubborn and have always felt entitled to every part of Tony they could possibly have. She would have thought that their behavior would get worse, not better, now that they would have to deal with her instead of Tony – at least Tony had had the armor and JARVIS to make his point for him, not that having either had helped him in the end. In the criminals’ eyes, she was just an overqualified and untrained civilian – and a woman to boot. She would have expected the hungry, uncivilized pack of Rogues to descend upon her nearly immediately after the funeral, trying to take advantage of her grief and vulnerability. 

It’s only when the news reaches her, courtesy of Rhodey, who had gotten it from Wilson, that Steve Rogers had taken the stones back to their rightful place in history and had stayed there himself to live out his happily ever after in an alternate, parallel timeline that she understands. Rogers and Romanoff had always been the most overtly greedy and manipulative of the bunch, the ones most ready to believe the worst of Tony and yet demand the most and best of him, which had led to the most toxic of environments in the history of teamwork. It figures that now that both of the worst perpetrators of injustice are gone, the rest of the Rogue Avengers do not feel nearly entitled or pushy enough to demand her time and effort and resources the way Captain America and the Widow would have. It seems that without the good Captain and the spy, the rest of the Rogues actually have some shreds of common sense and decency left about them. 

It’s also entirely possible that Phil had told them exactly what she’d said, word for word, instead of paraphrasing it as she would have expected, and as a result, the Rogues have probably preemptively deemed her a lost cause. 

Whatever the case, it’s good enough for her. She doesn’t need any more trouble in her life; the Board of Stark Industries is more than enough of a handful, even on a good day. 

The news soon comes out that the suspended Accords have been reinstated, that Thaddeus Ross is behind bars for trying to unjustly interfere (again), and that the Rogue Avengers are chafing under the even tighter restrictions around them. 

The journalists ask her, of course they do. 

_“Ms. Potts, what do you think about the Accords being reinstated and the Rogue Avengers having their range of operations curtailed?”_

_“I’m happy that the Accords have been amended properly and reinstated; the world needs some sense of order and balance and structure, and I’m hoping that the Accords will help provide that structure and restriction without being punitive.”_

_“And the Rogues?”_

Pepper smoothly slides her oversized sunglasses onto her face. 

_“As a civilian, I do hope that any and all self-proclaimed superheroes out there do their job in a responsible, conscientious, and morally-upstanding way, and I do hope the Accords help with that. On a personal level, I am not affiliated with any Avengers, rogue or otherwise, in any way, so why should I care about any of their affairs? I have my own life to be concerned with, and if you’ll excuse me, I really must get back to it.”_

Her frosty tone convinces even the most shit-stirring members of the press not to come after her as she stalks down the street on her way to her next meeting, coffee securely in hand. 

Her expression must really be something to behold because it’s the last time anyone, reporter or otherwise, tries to ask her about the Avengers. 

*** 

Nebula drops by just once. She sticks to the treeline of the property, getting glimpses of Morgan playing outside in the yard, but FRIDAY is wired into the cabin and Pepper knows she is out there. She gets a huge thrill out of surprising Nebula when she tells her in no uncertain terms to quit skulking and go greet her niece properly. 

“I could have thrown a knife at you, in my surprise,” Nebula later says sourly, after Morgan has stopped dragging her Auntie Nebula around and has run off to play on her own again. 

“But would you have really?” 

“No,” Nebula finally says after a period of silence. It sounds hard for her to admit, but Pepper can see that Nebula has relaxed more since the battle ended. Must be the effect of traveling space aimlessly with no goal in sight with people she actually cares about. 

“How’s space?” 

“Vast,” is all Nebula says. 

“Yeah. And everyone?” 

“Everyone is good. We are here to drop Thor off in New Asgard, not staying long. The others are taking a look around New Asgard and will pick me up soon.” 

“Thor’s... better, I take it?” Pepper asks delicately. She hadn’t known Thor well at all, but had heard from Tony what a mess the god had been after losing his planet and half his people. 

“Better enough.” 

There’s more silence, but it’s comfortable, as they sip their tea and Nebula looks around, seemingly fascinated by their little home and the signs of the life she and Tony and Morgan had carved out for themselves in those five years. 

“He talked about you,” Nebula says suddenly, pulling Pepper’s focus sharply back to her. “Up in space. He would... there wasn’t much to do. He would fiddle with his helmet, and... “ 

Yeah. Pepper had used those messages from space to help Carol track down exactly where out there Tony might be, but she had only listened to those journal entries in their entirety once his Iron Man armor had been retrieved from the floor of the Benatar after Tony had been whisked away to the Compound’s medical bay. 

“I asked him if he had anyone waiting for him. He said he didn’t know, didn’t know anything about what had happened on Earth. He said he could have everything or nothing waiting for him back on Earth, and he wouldn’t know until he opened the box.” Nebula looks confused, pensive. 

“The box – it’s a reference to Schrodinger’s – you know what, forget it. Tony liked to ramble about physics and science and engineering when he was stressed or tired or scared.” 

_Everything and nothing._ Tony had told her, once, with great reluctance, about what Yinsen had said to him in an Afghani cave long ago and far away. 

_So_ _you are a man with everything and nothing, Stark._

Everything and nothing. She wonders if Tony had felt the exact same sort of desperation, floating around space with a near-stranger, as he had held captive in that cave. 

Tony’s life had held more parallels than Pepper wanted to really contemplate. 

“I told him that hope was for morons.” Nebula’s voice scrambles through her thoughts again. 

“He would have scoffed and agreed with you – but he was the biggest optimist I’ve ever known. Tony swung between extremes – foolishly optimistic one day, and unbearably fatalistic and cynical the next. It was maddening.” 

“He was maddening,” Nebula agrees. “Even in that short time I was with him in space, I could see just how maddening he was.” It’s obvious that Nebula is using the word _maddening_ to mean something else, at this point, but Pepper won’t point it out. 

In this house, they don’t do that. 

“I just wanted to... check in,” Nebula finally says, looking entirely uncomfortable as she does, like she is not used to this. 

“I appreciate that.” 

“He talked about you. You meant a lot to him. I just – “ 

“So did you,” Pepper interrupts. 

“What?” 

“You meant a lot to him too. He talked about you, too. After – after he got back.”

Nebula’s face openly shows her surprise. 

“Yeah – he had a way of doing that, of getting attached to people he’d only met once or twice. He had that way about him, of just clicking with people and taking them under his wing or into his life and making no apologies for it. He had a way of making people care for him in unexpected ways, too, after he met them. I’m the best example of that, and I’m only now realizing just how many other people he pulled into his orbit that I didn’t even know about.” 

“Does that make you... uncomfortable?” 

“That I didn’t know about all these people? No. Tony had a big heart, bigger than anyone’s, even if he liked to ignore it and hide it away and joke that it was made of metal. Metal or not, Tony’s stupidly giant heart was visible to everybody if only you knew how to look for it. I don’t begrudge him that big heart, and it’s nice to know I can still learn stuff about him even after he’s gone.”

The _proof that Tony Stark has a heart_ was in more than just the arc reactor she’d floated up the river (and then fished out twenty minutes later because _goddamn_ that had been a bad move security-wise).

“You seem to be at peace with his death.” This is said so uncertainly, Pepper knows Nebula is chastising herself for coming off completely insensitive, but Pepper waves away the doubt and uncertainty on her face. 

“I’m not. I’m really not,” Pepper chuckles ruefully. “But what would you have me do, sit around and deny that he’s really gone when he is? I’ve never been particularly good with denial. It doesn’t help anything. That doesn’t mean I’m not a mess in other ways.” 

Pepper finishes her tea and smiles. “You’re welcome to stay, you know. I’ve become very good at making room for all the people Tony collected.” 

Nebula snorts. It’s such an oddly human gesture from someone who has blue skin and too many metal parts to count, but it’s strangely comforting – Pepper would never say it, but some of Nebula’s gestures sometimes resemble the behavior of Tony’s workshop bots.

“I appreciate it,” Nebula says, echoing Pepper’s earlier words. “But if it’s all the same, I should go. Lots of things to... lots of things,” she finishes awkwardly.

“The offer stands. Lots of space here, any time you want it,” Pepper says, seeing by the quirk at the edges of Nebula’s mouth that the joke is not lost on her. 

“Thank you,” she says, a little stiffly, as though Nebula is not used to thanking people for things. Maybe she isn’t. Pepper has no idea what Nebula’s life has been like, but as a daughter of Titan, she can’t imagine Nebula having much to be thankful for throughout much of her life. 

Nebula perks up, suddenly. “The ship – I can hear it.” 

“Does Quill know to land in the area the quinjet is parked?” Quill was another that Pepper had met only for the briefest of moments at Tony’s funeral. 

Nebula rolls her eyes. “Yes, but to trust a terran to follow instructions is like trusting tyrants to stop starting wars.” 

“I know, right? Those incorrigible terrans,” Pepper grins sunnily at Nebula’s look of surprise. 

“...I suppose they have their moments,” Nebula says, grudgingly, exiting the front door to meet her crew as Pepper follows, giving perfunctory greetings to each of the Guardians as they exit down the ramp of their ship. 

“Ya got what ya needed, smurfette?” 

Nebula gives Quill a look that promises instant death if he keeps encouraging Rocket to ‘understand more of Terran reality’, which really consisted of ‘60’s and ‘70’s pop culture. 

Pepper smothered a giggle, remembering when Tony had done something similar with a newly-born Vision. Earth, space – it didn’t matter. Some things never changed. She straightens, suddenly, a flash of inspiration striking her. 

“Wait! Nebula – wait. Could you – ?” Pepper gestures over to the side, wanting to speak to Nebula privately. From the corner of her eye, she sees a puzzled Nebula following her back into the house. 

She asks Nebula to stay in the living room for a second as she quickly runs into the basement, ignoring the half-finished holograms and the thin layer of dust coating the worktables. She digs in the box of spare parts for – yes. 

Upstairs, she hands over the faceplate of the Iron Man helmet Tony had been wearing on Titan, the one he had used to record all those messages that had eventually brought him back home. 

Nebula looks stunned. “Are you – is this – are you giving this to me?” 

“I am,” Pepper answers calmly. 

“ _Why?_ ” Nebula looks overwhelmed. 

“He would want you to have something. He gave everybody something. Attention, love, time, headaches. Things. Tony _gave,_ so if you want that, if it’ll help, then you should have it. It’s the one he wore on Titan. None of the messages are accessible anymore, but it’s the one he used to record them.” 

“Don’t you want it?” 

Pepper snorts. “I have plenty of armor parts all over the house. Trust me. I still have the messages, too.” 

“I’m not sentimental.” It’s said sharply, as if Nebula is daring Pepper to contradict her. 

“Okay. Then you can throw it away when you get back to space. Just chuck it into free space, let it float out there. It’ll be fitting.” Pepper wouldn’t mind it if Nebula actually did that. It _would_ be fitting, for a piece of Iron Man to end up in space forever. And the faceplate itself didn’t contain any data or tech that could be reverse-engineered, even by technologically-advanced alien races. At this point, the faceplate was just a pretty showpiece. 

Nebula nods, just once, and secrets the piece of armor away somewhere on her body. Pepper rolls her eyes; she will never get used to just how many weapons and items and things these spies can hide on their person. 

“Thank you,” she says, and to Pepper, it sounds less awkward than the last one. Impulsively, Pepper pulls the alien into a hug. 

“It’s not for you,” Pepper murmurs into Nebula’s ear, knowing her well enough to know she would protest about not needing a hug. God, she was so much like Tony in his earlier days. “It’s for me. I need a hug. And you happen to be standing right here. Just suck it up for a moment.” 

Pepper feels Nebula nod against her shoulder and clings for just a second more before stepping back. “Thank you, Nebula, for stopping by. I’ll let you get going, but – “ 

“The offer is always open, yes. I remember.” 

As she watches Nebula lift off into the sky with the other Guardians, Pepper hopes that Nebula is actually ready to take her up on it one day. 

*** 

Of all the people that have ended up at her front door over the last few months, the last person Pepper would have ever expected is Laura Barton. She raises a silent eyebrow as she beckons the other woman inside. 

“I won’t stay long. I know you didn’t expect me here,” Laura acknowledges, following Pepper into the cozy and cheerful kitchen. 

“Coffee?” Pepper asks. 

“Please.” Laura waits silently as Pepper finishes brewing the coffee and doctoring her own mug, indicating that Laura should do the same. 

As she settles into her spot at the kitchen table, Laura looks down. “I’m actually not sure why I’m here,” she murmurs, stirring her coffee in hopes of cooling it down faster. “I told myself that I was just coming by to – to check in, I guess. I know you’ve got your friends, your family looking out. I know you’ve got people who care. I just – wanted you to know that I’m one of those people. That care.” Laura swallows, looking uncomfortable but determined. “I guess that’s the best reason I have for being here, besides _I was in the neighborhood._ Which I was, sort of. The farm’s not that far away.”

Pepper stares at the other woman, nonplussed. “I’m in New York or California for business a lot. There was no guarantee that I’d even be here.” 

Laura sighs. “I know that. I don’t know. This wasn’t... planned. It wasn’t even well thought out. I just... wanted to reach out, I guess. See if you wanted anything. Company, or an ear to listen, or something. I wanted to bring you food, but I realized it would be a bit – ” Laura bites her lip, looking discomfited.

“A bit tactless? Widow’s casserole,” Pepper smiles with little humor, watching Laura grimace as well. 

“Yeah. Tactless.” Laura taps out a quick staccato on the table, traces the swirls of the wood grain with her fingertip. “I don’t really know why I’m here,” she confesses again, looking up as if Pepper has all the answers. “I just thought I’d see if there’s something you need.”

”There’s not,” Pepper says more sharply than she’d intended, taking no satisfaction in the way Laura won’t meet her eyes. “The truth is, I don’t really know you, Laura. We’re barely more than strangers, and to me, you’re barely more familiar to me than the journalists and businesspeople that know my name but don’t know me. We’ve both had partners that were Avengers, but that’s where our connection begins and ends. Trying to pretend there’s anything more between us would be... particularly inappropriate.”

 _Your husband had bad history with my husband and it's in everyone’s best interests to not have me dealing with any of that._

By the look in her eyes, Pepper can see that Laura understands exactly what Pepper is and isn’t saying, and that all of it hurt.

”It’s... fine. I understand. Really. Just...” Laura takes a deep breath and pulls a notepad out of her purse and rips off the empty bottom part of what looks like a grocery list. She fishes out a pencil and scrawls a quick dash of numbers across the scrap of paper. 

“My number,” she explains needlessly. “To my cell. No one else answers it. Just in case.” 

Pepper nods, taking the piece of paper into her own hand. She doesn’t ever intend to take Laura up on her offer to talk, but she also doesn’t want to throw the kindness back in the other woman’s face, no matter how awkwardly it had been presented.

“Thank you for coming out,” Pepper says, standing up and walking to the door. Laura smiles in response, and despite what Pepper had said earlier, the genuine, gentle openness and warmth in Laura’s smile is in sharp contrast to the bland poker faces, showy press smiles and cutthroat smirks that she normally has to deal with.

She leans against the open door of her cabin as the other woman waves and slips inside a quinjet that was clearly her own. Pepper idly wonders when Barton had gotten it, wonders whether SHIELD gave out private-use gifts to retired agents now, wonders whether Laura had learned to fly on her own or from her husband. 

It doesn’t matter. Pepper appreciates the kindness, but she is sure this is the last time she will ever see Laura Barton, so her curiosity is moot.

She turns away and goes back inside. Happy will be bringing Morgan home from school soon, and she’d like to have a snack ready before her little girl came tumbling through the door. 

*** 

She’s watching Morgan play catch gently with one of the robots (and Pepper is just thankful that the cabin’s living room has none of the fussy, breakable decorations that the Tower had had) when she sees a silver suit of armor touch down on the grass outside. She throws open the front door and watches her daughter tackle her Uncle Rhodey as soon as he’s on the threshold. 

“Let’s continue this game of catch outside, Morgan,” she suggests, letting Rhodey know with her eyes that of course he will be participating too, and he follows them outside obediently. He throws the ball much further than a robot arm does, so there was no question that Morgan would’t be able to continue playing in the living room. It is later when Morgan is finally tired out, hidden in her tree house, and the bots are back in the lab, that Rhodey speaks. 

“The Senate wants a meeting to discuss an organized response team outside of the Avengers. Or – I guess it’s more an expansion of the Avengers than anything.”

Pepper only hums. The entire world knows where she stands on that subject. 

“I’m actually thinking of retiring, just so I don’t have to deal with the meeting.” Pepper looks up sharply at that. The words are said in a very faux-casual way, as though there is more thought behind them than indicated at first. 

“Retire.” 

“Yeah. I... You know, I’m getting old. Too old for this,” he huffs. 

“Rhodey, if you’re doing this for me, for her – “ she gestures to Morgan’s treehouse, rising tall above the landscape, reminding her of the tower. 

“I’m – not, not really.” Rhodey settles back more comfortably on the grass. “I’ve given the job everything. I chose the job over him. Gave him hell when he tried to choose the job over me, even though I always did the same thing. I always felt a little jealous, like he was... encroaching on my territory. I was stupidly possessive, like the military, like the service, like saving people... it was mine and he couldn’t have it. I was fine as long as he was a hero from behind a desk, making weapons – even though we all know how that turned out. But when he was in the field... I always felt like the field was my territory, and he was stepping all over that... and that he was doing it better than I ever had. I was jealous, and yeah, that jealousy is stupid and I know it. When he stepped back from it, I was relieved for more than one reason. It was the most selfish I’ve ever felt in my entire life, but I was _relieved,_ Pepper.”

Pepper stays quiet, not knowing why he’s telling her this _now._

“But even worse than the jealousy over his choices is the fact that I chose the job over him, constantly, when he should have been the priority. The job shouldn’t have meant as much as it did – shouldn't have meant as much as him.” 

“Rhodey – “ she pauses. “Rhodey,” she starts again, her voice softer, “He wasn’t your child, or your lover, or anyone that you had to put above your own interests and your own commitments and your own life. Serving was your dream, and you did that wholeheartedly. There was never anything wrong with that. You did your best by him anyway.” 

He huffs. “I really didn’t. I should’ve done – more. Better. Serving was my dream, yeah, but the way it made me act around Tony sometimes – I should’ve done better.”

She laughs. “You two were quite the pair. Always harboring a lot of the exact same insecurities, the same guilt, showing it all in different ways. I mean, he might have been worse, but not by a much bigger margin.” 

“I just feel like I didn’t give him the time he really deserved, because I gave away all my time to the job, because I loved it more, because I wanted that space to shine, especially when he wasn’t there to steal it from me. I know that’s an unfair thing to think, let alone say, but – “ 

“Hey, no one is perfect. He sure as hell wasn’t. He thought a lot of unfair things about a lot of people, and given his very real lack of brain-to-mouth-filter, he actually said most of those casually callous things he thought out loud. To the people he was thinking them about, in most cases. Hell, most of the fires I had to put out for him were _because_ of his completely nonexistent filter, and I was the one doing it because he aggravated the PR team _and_ all of his other PAs to tears.”

“The man needed to make like a teenage girl’s Instagram account, huh?” 

She gives him a look. “I have no idea what that means, Rhodes.” 

He groans. “I have sisters, Potts. Young ones. Just you wait, one day, Imma introduce you to all of them.” 

She grins. “I finally get to meet the famous Mama Rhodes, huh?” 

“Man, you should’ve seen my mom the first time she saw Tony, all skinny and pale from staying indoors too long, awkward and shy and sarcastic and pushing everyone’s buttons and wanting to get close and wanting to pull away – Tony was a mess of contradictions and he had no idea how to behave, and it didn’t faze my mom even a little bit. The first time she saw him, she adopted him into the family in a heartbeat. He wasn’t my kid, or my lover, or whatever, but he was family, and I didn’t make enough time for my family when it really counted. I’m glad you did, though,” he says, looking away from her. 

“What?” 

He looks square into her eyes now. “I’m glad you were there for him, that you made the time for him during those five years. Even before, but especially then. And I’m glad he pulled his head out of his ass, finally, and made real time for you, too. You deserved each other, and I mean that in the best possible way.” 

“I know, Rhodey. I just – “ Pepper can feel tears pricking at her eyes. “I feel like I didn’t do good enough too. I wanted him to change, to give up the suits, to be something he wasn’t – I feel like I failed him in a lot of ways. Does that ever stop?” 

He snorts. “No. Because we look at the past, especially death, with rose-colored blinders. We purposely, subconsciously don’t remember the ugly parts, the screaming fights, the hurtful things, the personality quirks that we _hated_ and could never really let go of. We forget all that when we’re busy remembering the best parts of the people we lost.” 

“Yeah. What a bitch.” 

Rhodey laughs. “I always love it when you swear. No one ever expects it to come from you.” 

It’s her turn to snort. “I love how everyone always thought Tony was rubbing off on me in a bad way, corrupting me. Little did they know I’ve had a sailor’s mouth since I was fourteen, and would gladly unleash it at any available opportunity if it wouldn’t make the world collectively burst into flames – because god forbid a _woman,_ so demure and delicate and dainty, be able to say things like that. Not that I care what the world really thinks, but since it would send SI’s stocks crashing, at least temporarily, it feels more trouble than its worth.”

“Yeah. Bureaucracy and politics and public perception and all that fun stuff that Tony loved avoiding.” 

“Sometimes I wish we could’ve been more like him, in that regard. I mean I don’t, because if we had been, literally nothing would have ever gotten done, but if we had, I might have fewer stress lines and gray hairs.” 

“You wear them well, Potts. Besides, one Tony in our little family was enough.” 

“More than.”

”For what it’s worth, you did a lot of good by Tony. I always said you were the best thing to happen to him. You feel like you pushed him to be someone he wasn’t, and maybe you did, a little – but you also pushed him out of his comfort zone so he could see what he was capable of outside of just engineering. You helped him become better. If you’re gonna take responsibility for all the times you got it wrong, then take responsibility for this too.”

”Back atcha.”

Silence stretches over them like a comfortable, well-loved blanket. 

“So. Retiring,” she says at last. 

“Yeah.” He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s not about you or Morgan or about what Tony would have wanted. No offense. It’s not about anything, really – it's just time. I just feel it. The world’s got enough supers these days; at the very least, I can be on standby-only. And my time with the Air Force was effectively over after – after I broke my spine.” Rhodey swallows. “The brass might not have officially discharged me after that, because it looks bad, and they still wanted the armor, but I was benched from active duty, and it’s still – it‘s still complicated, even now. It’s time I said my goodbyes; I’ve gotten what I can, what I set out to, from that part of my journey. And yeah, if a side benefit of retiring is that I get to spend more time with you, more time with my goddaughter, then I’m not gonna complain about that.” 

Pepper smiles. “Sounds like a plan to me.” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, right after. Or during those five years.” 

“Rhodey. Stop,” she says as firmly as she can. “Just stop. We both have a lot of things we wish we did differently, and we could sit here and go in circles apologizing forever. There’s no point to it. We don’t have a way to time travel anymore; we can’t go back and change it. We did what we did and now we get to live with it – and I’m not trying to be callous.” 

“You could never be callous, Pep.” 

“I could be more hurtful that Tony on my worst days,” she confesses quietly. He just nods, knowing it’s actually true. “We missed you during those five years, but you were doing what you needed to. You were doing what was best for the world and for yourself, and we understood that. We wouldn’t have had it any other way. And you still made the time to call occasionally, and we appreciated that. And – everyone was a mess, after. I was a mess. Not sure I would’ve appreciated your presence anyway. It’s the fact that you’re here now, talking about being around more permanently, that matters.” 

He acknowledges her words with another nod. 

“I blamed you too, you know,” she continues, seeing him jerk his head around to stare at her. “I did blame you for choosing the job over Tony. For choosing the job over me, too, to some extent, especially right after he died. I did blame you.” 

“Then why – “ 

“Because at some point, I let go of that blame. You’re not someone I want to keep blaming for the rest of my life. You screwed up, but we all have. And in the end, if our lives are the sum total of the choices we make, then you were a good friend to Tony in more ways than you _weren’t._ You’ve been a good friend to me more often than you haven’t been. I’ve let it go. I’m tired of blaming other people for feelings I can’t deal with. I’m not saying you need to let it go that easily. It’s not for me to tell you what you should be doing, but I’m just telling you that _I’ve_ let it go. I want you around, in my life and in Morgan’s life, and I don’t want any misplaced blame getting in the way. At some point, I decided that I want you around, and that’s all that matters now. Everything else is just bygones because I care for you more than I am angry with you.”

Rhodey blinks, laying his hand gently on top of hers where it’s splayed out in the grass. She can feel the prickly blades of grass tickling at her palm. 

“You really are something, Potts. You know – Tony second-guessed everything. Like, _everything._ You know the very first decision I saw him make that he didn’t second-guess? Was making you CEO. I know he made the decision when he was a mess, when he was dying for only one of the many, many times he’s been dying, but it was the one decision he made during that whole mess that he never looked back on with regret, the one decision he never second-guessed before making it. If it seemed impulsive to you, that’s because it was, but Tony just _knew.”_

Pepper gives him a sideways look. “Did he tell you that?” 

“He did, yeah,” Rhodey confirms. “Later on, when we were working on the equipment for the time heist. He took me aside one night and told me in no uncertain terms that we were taking a night off. He brought the good whiskey. You were with Morgan, we stayed at the Compound. He told me that, and he told me a lot of things he admitted he should’ve said a long time ago. I think he had a bad feeling about the time heist – like it was necessary and unavoidable, but also like it wouldn’t end well. That’s probably about the time he started recording the videos he left for some of us in case of his death... though I didn’t know about those back then, at the time. I didn’t see him making them. Just the way he was talking, that night, I figure he’d already started on some of the videos.” 

Pepper nods. “So he never second-guessed me as CEO, huh?” 

“Nope. Not for a minute. I know he’s had his doubts about you two and your relationship, but he never second-guessed your role as CEO, or your partnership in business. That worked as well as it possibly could’ve, Pep, always. And Tony made a lot of good decisions, after that – he brought in the Spider-kid, and he never had any doubts about that either. I mean, he regretted _how_ he brought the Spider-kid in, regretted taking him to that fight in Germany, but he never regretted bringing the kid in, in general. He always said the Spider-kid would be the best kind of superhero. Moving out here, totally a good decision. Morgan? The best.” 

“Morgan was not a decision,” Pepper cuts in. “Morgan wasn’t planned.” 

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “Fine. Happy accident that, in hindsight, ended up being a good decision,” she concedes, reaching up to brush her free hand through her hair. 

“But making you CEO was the very first decision he made that turned out well that he never, ever second-guessed. Before that? Shutting down weapons, Iron Man? He told me he’d second-guessed everything related to that, every step of the way. I can see why he didn’t second-guess it with you, now, knowing you the way I’ve come to.” 

Pepper laughs weakly. “He was always good at seeing through to the very heart of people.” 

“Well, not always.” A dark look briefly passes over Rhodey’s face. “There was Stane, and Sunset, and Ty, and a whole host of other bullshit assholes at boarding school.” He pauses. “There were the Avengers.” 

“True,” she sighs. “But he learned. Mostly. In the end, he got it right more than he got it wrong, I think. Even if it doesn’t look that way from the outside.”

Rhodey just shrugs. “Won’t lie – the people he’s left behind that he cared for and that cared for him are all pretty extraordinary.” 

She pulls her hand out from where it’s still trapped under his and gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder. “That includes you. Making friends with you in MIT was a good decision on the part of his scrawny, skinny ass too.” 

“Wasn’t a decision, really. We were roommates, and he made me want to take care of him because I swear he would’ve died within like, a week, if he’d been left to his own devices. There was a betting pool in the halls of MIT – will that kid die by explosion, or by starvation cause he forgot to eat while inventing, or by broken face because some dude punched him for flirting with his girlfriend – again.” 

Pepper laughs long and loud enough that Morgan pops her head out of her treehouse to stare at her. “I wouldn’t have been able to decide,” she admits. “I would’ve put money on all three.” 

Rhodey snorts. “A lot of people sucked up to me to get insider info so they could win all the bets for themselves.” 

“Let me guess, you didn’t help?” 

He guffaws. “Naw. I would actually make my own bets; I’d choose different causes of death based on the day of the week. I liked to keep the insider info for myself. Eventually, Tony found out and made me promise that if I ever won the bet, I’d split the money with him. I asked him what his rich ass would want with it after he was dead – he never really had an answer for that one. Just said it was the principle of the thing.” 

“What happened to the money in the end, since Tony ended up making it out of MIT alive and intact?” 

“Everyone who’d poured money into the betting pool just ended up using it all for an awesome prank. Tony and I actually got in on that, made it better. Tony’s help was actually welcomed. Not only had he been the catalyst for the whole thing in the first place, but he was really able to show off his engineering expertise. It actually helped him establish himself as a real MIT student. He did better for himself, after that, once the other students realized that Tony really belonged there with them and that he wasn’t just using daddy’s name and money to get into places he had no right to be.” 

“A lot of people thought that about Tony at first, huh,” Pepper says sadly. 

Rhodey shrugs. “Their loss for not getting to know the Tony that we did.” 

“Yeah. It really is. This – this was nice, Rhodey. I don’t really get to do this. No one knew him like you... like we did. We knew him differently, but... “ she shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t think I’d _want_ to do this, sit and talk about him like this, but it’s actually been nice. So... thanks.” 

“Maybe we can do more of this once I’ve officially retired. If you want,” he says nonchalantly. 

She stares. “That – would be nice. It’ll be nice to just have you around more often. What will you do?” 

“I don’t know. Work’s been my whole life, you know – serving, helping. Avenging. It’s all I know how to do. Literally, from the moment I stepped out of MIT, to now. Nearly thirty years of it.” 

“You’ll have the time now to learn how to do new things. And you’re gonna have less free time than you think, Rhodey; Morgan will make sure of it.” They trade a secret smile as she calls Morgan down from her treehouse and tells her to wash up for dinner. 

“You staying for dinner, Rhodey? The boys are in school, so you can even have one of the spare rooms for the night, if you want.” 

“Man, I hope they’re creating as much chaos at MIT as Tony and I did,” he chuckles. “Can’t believe they both wanted to go there.” 

Pepper runs her teeth over her lower lip in worry. “I hope they’ve gone there for the right reasons, you know. I mean, both of them are definitely little scientists and engineers at heart, so I’m not worried about how they’ll handle classes or any of that. But I worry sometimes that they just went to MIT because they think it’s what Tony would have wanted. Tony wouldn’t have cared where they went, you know; he would’ve just wanted them to be happy. I worry that the boys are trying to live up to some expectation they think Tony had for them.” 

Rhodey lays a hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. “I think the boys know that, that Tony didn’t expect anything. Tony wasn’t like that. The boys know that. But I also think that maybe they went to MIT both because they were actually interested in it, _and_ because maybe they wanted to feel a little closer to Tony. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” 

Pepper nods, unconvinced, but letting it drop. The boys could make their own decisions, and all she could do was sit back and watch it play out. 

“It’ll be fine, Pep. And yeah, I’ll stay for dinner, if you don’t mind. And – maybe the night. I’ve been away too long. I still have stuff, gotta dot all my ‘i’s’ and cross my ‘t’s’ to make that retirement official, so I’ll have to be outta here pretty early in the morning, but if I’m already staying for dinner, it makes just as much sense to crash here.” 

She smiles. “Great. I can get you started on chopping up the vegetables for the salad.” 

“Work, work, work,” he grumbles. “At least I’m probably an upgrade over Tony when it comes to dinner,” he says, then freezes, a horrible look of guilt and fear passing over his face. 

She holds her breath for a second too, because the casual, throwaway comment _should_ hurt, someone talking about replacing Tony like that – but it doesn’t, not coming from Rhodey. It doesn’t make her want to break down, or lash out, or go silent with grief for hours. It doesn’t particularly make her want to do anything except smile and make Rhodey, who is clearly still expecting a big reaction from her, feel better. 

She squeezes his shoulder, steering him into the house, calling for Morgan to follow. “His cooking actually wasn’t too bad in the end, but you’re definitely still an upgrade when it comes to dinner,” she says, accompanying the gesture and the statement with a smile, letting him know that everything is good, that they are okay, that it is fine to joke like this. It might not be okay to talk like this with anyone else; she doesn’t think she could hear that sort of comment from anyone else without wanting to rip the offender into shreds, but coming from Rhodey, who had loved Tony differently but just as much as she had, it feels fine. It feels normal. It feels like the way things should be. 

*** 

Pepper slumps against the door of her shoe closet, stifling sobs. She wants to clasp her hands over her ears so that she won’t be able to hear Morgan’s wailing for just two minutes, so she won’t have to hear _I hate this sandwich, daddy made it better, I don‘t want this, I’m not eating, I won’t, you don’t do anything right!_ Pepper knows Morgan is just frustrated, doesn’t mean anything by it, and that she will apologize later, that’s just the kind of kid she is, but Pepper can’t help but take the words to heart, because they’re just echoes of what she has already been feeling for a while now. She sucks. She can’t do anything right. She is failing.

She doesn’t want to ever leave this room, her shoe closet, stuffed with racks full of the high heels she’d been unable to leave behind when they’d made the move to the cabin. Tony had laughed and asked her if she was trying to impress Gerald the alpaca, and Pepper had smacked him in the shoulder and just said if he didn’t cut it out, she’d never again wear the strappy black ones to bed. It had shut him up for a full fifteen minutes, which is still the record. She doesn’t want to ever leave this room. This room is safe. This room is full of shoes, full of memories. Outside is full of tantrums and unending paperwork and phone calls from lost little puppies in R&D because of course that division is falling apart without Tony and without Peter or Harley there to ride herd on all the other scientists. Outside is full of tears, hers and Morgan’s. Outside makes her feel like a failure, as a mother, as a person, and she’s just so sick of feeling that way.

Pepper knows she shouldn’t be bemoaning parenthood. Parenthood has mostly been good to her, and she has been extraordinarily lucky – Pepper knows that. Morgan’s been a pretty easy kid throughout; she had been a relatively unfussy baby, and as a precocious and highly active, inquisitive toddler, she’d had Tony’s brilliant mind and fast fingers to keep up with her. Tony’s own fast-paced nature and tendency to act like a big, creative kid had made things so, so much easier than they could’ve been. Now, she has Happy and Rhodey around on and off to help, and Peter and Harley both watch her when they’re around as well. Peter in particular has really taken a shine to her, maybe because Pete is just so soft-hearted and _knows_ what it feels like to grow up without a parent.

It’s just lately that the days have steadily been more and more awful. The thing is – Pepper knows why Morgan is likely acting out, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Pepper knows that Morgan’s constant, heightened emotional state could just mean that she’s finally realizing that Daddy’s not coming back – ever. Pepper wonders if she should be talking to Morgan about Tony more. On the other hand, Morgan could just be railing at the disruption to her routine and at the fact that Pepper has had to hand her off to other caregivers more and more lately, because SI is gearing up for a new product launch which has kept Pepper in New York for days at a time, unable to see her daughter except through a screen. Happy and Rhodey do their best, but it’s not the same, not enough. Or Morgan could just be picking up on the fact that whenever mommy _is_ home, she is always cranky because assholes keep calling her and calling her and the paperwork keeps piling up and this product launch is making her want to rip her hair out.

Whatever the reason, Pepper’s drowning and doesn’t know what to do, but she does know that no matter what, she can’t stay in this closet forever. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and ruffles her hair into something that feels more orderly on the top of her head. She knows that if she looked in a mirror right now, her eyes would be bloodshot and framed by clumpy lashes, while her nose would be lit up like Rudolph’s and the freckles on her face would stand out because her cheeks would be so pale. She’s always been a horribly ugly crier, but that’s the least of her problems right now.

She feels a huge wave of relief as she exits her closet to find the house silent. Morgan must have finally exhausted herself. Thankfully, she’s not the type of child to run off or destroy things when she’s mad – she normally just sulks herself to sleep, and Pepper is dearly hoping to find Morgan curled up somewhere already asleep.

It’s definitely cowardly, but in that moment, Pepper just does not want to deal with yet another confrontation with her child. Tony had been better with Morgan’s meltdowns, when she’d been younger, and it’s not the first or even the forty-fifth time that day that Pepper misses her husband and co-parent so desperately and fiercely that it makes her stomach ache.

Morgan has cried herself to sleep on the couch, the sandwich tossed to the ground in a fit of pique, cheese hardened and tomatoes spilled off the plate and onto the floor. Pepper sighs and covers Morgan with the old afghan before picking up the discarded lunch and tossing it outside in the yard. She hopes the damn alpaca appreciates it.

She doesn’t know how long this peaceful bubble will last. Morgan will wake up, at some point, and then it will be back to the same old. Pepper wishes she could take a break from it, even for a moment. She wishes she had somewhere to go. She doesn’t want Morgan to feel abandoned or unwanted or unloved by her only remaining parent, not ever, but Pepper wishes she could just check out, for a moment. She wishes she could leave Morgan with trusted babysitters, tell the company she was going on vacation, and just go somewhere and sip colorful cocktails until she felt a little less like she was dying. 

Hell, she wishes she had a friend she could actually say any of that to, who would _understand._ A fellow mom, maybe. A fellow single parent.

For the first time ever, Pepper honestly regrets letting Tony talk her into moving out into the middle of nowhere, miles from human contact. Isolation and safety had been the point, back then, right after the snap, after Tony had come back home from space, but now... now, for the first time, Pepper wonders why she stays.

The cabin’s not really the problem, though. Pepper mostly regrets the fact that she’s never really been good at making friends, especially with other women. In her younger years, she’d been too competitive and too single-minded and too irritated with the frivolous things most teenaged or 20-something aged girls cared about. Later, she’d become too busy to have any time for friends while she was trying to shatter the glass ceiling. Then she’d met Tony, and not only had her life revolved around him, but _her life had revolved around him._ No matter how busy life became with Tony and SI, Pepper knew she had only herself to blame for becoming complacent and just not bothering to make any friends of her own outside of Tony’s world. She regrets never making the effort to make friends when she’d moved into the cabin, but she’d just been so grateful to have Tony back mostly in one piece that she couldn’t have looked outside of their little three-person bubble even if she’d wanted to.

And now, she was alone. She had the best people in her corner, but in so many ways she was still alone.

As she moves to the sink to put the plate in for washing up, her eye catches on the corkboard where she pins up important reminders – doctor’s appointments and and school-related forms, mostly. Sometimes she pins up recipes she knows she’ll never really get around to trying.

In the middle of it all is a scrap of paper with a phone number listed on it. No name, no address, no other details.

It makes a lump rise in Pepper’s throat.

It must be a sign that she hasn’t just thrown the number out by now. It must be a sign, and not just the fact that Pepper’s more disorganized than most people would assume – but if that’s the reason she still has the number, the piece of paper should be buried inside the mess of her filing cabinet, not pinned up like a treasure.

So it must be a sign.

It must be a sign that she’d just been wishing she’d made more friends, especially parents and moms who could possibly understand something of what she was going through.

Her fingers twitch towards the cell phone in the pocket of her slacks.

 _No._ No. She is Pepper Potts; she can handle one unruly child and a bunch of corporate executives with sticks up their asses.

She spies Morgan snuffling in her sleep out on the couch, still obviously distressed, and she feels her heart clench.

Pepper can handle this like she has been. She _can._

Pepper Potts never met a challenge she couldn’t handle – but her child is not a challenge. Her child is not _supposed_ to be a challenge. Her child is hurting, and it’s her job as a mother to lessen her daughter’s pain, no matter how much pride it costs her to ask for help. No matter who she has to ask for help or advice from.

God. Parenthood had done wonders to mellow out her pride and ego.

She calls.

“Hello?” Laura’s cheerful but wary voice springs up from the speakers of her cell phone. The wariness makes sense; Pepper’s cell phone number is still as unlisted as it has always been.

“Hello?” There’s more confusion, more anxiousness there, and Pepper swallows.

“Laura. Hi. It’s Pepper.” She doesn’t think she’s been entirely successful hiding the shakiness of her voice, but Laura is kind enough not to call her on it.

“Pepper! It’s good to hear from you,” she says warmly. “How are you?”

“I’m – “ _Fine,_ she wants to say. With Rhodey or Happy she would be able to squeeze the word past her throat, because she wouldn’t want them to worry, but here, in this moment, she’s _not_ fine, and isn’t that kind of the point? Isn’t that why she’s called Laura in the first place, because she needs a moment to just not be fine?

Laura seems to hear everything she’s not saying. “What happened?”

 _God._ This woman doesn’t owe her anything, and Pepper had dismissed her so rudely the last time they’d met in her kitchen. She’d been so resentful at the time, hating that this strange woman was trying to force a connection with her out of some misplaced sense of duty. Now, Pepper thinks that maybe she’s the one who had gotten the wrong measure of the situation. It seems like Laura really is just an incredibly kind person, kind enough that she had flown all the way to the doorstep of a grieving mother she only knew peripherally, just to provide whatever she could give. It seems like Laura’s overtures had been genuine, that she hadn’t been angling for anything, hadn’t wanted anything for herself the first time she’d approached Pepper. This level of unapologetic kindness just seems crazy – Pepper's not used to it, doesn’t know what to do with it.

A sudden sob tears itself free from her throat, and her free hand flies up to cover her mouth in shock. _Oh god._ What the hell was wrong with her? She’d just been fine, nowhere close to crying, and even if she had been too close to the edge, more than a decade in the public eye had long-since trained her to never cry in front of strangers. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Everything,” she manages after a moment. “Everything is wrong. I’m sorry. I don’t usually fall apart like this in front of people I don’t know well.”

“It’s fine. We all have those days – god knows I do. It’s fine. You can just talk, or you can just stay silent on the phone for a minute. I won’t judge you for needing a minute.”

Pepper closes her eyes. “It’s just – my daughter hates me, I’m drowning in work, I’m drowning in general, I don’t – “ she takes a deep breath. “Everything is wrong.”

Laura is quiet a moment. “Do you want to come over?”

“What?” The question completely throws Pepper.

“Do you want to come over? Not right now,” Laura clarifies. “But soon – maybe this weekend? There’s nothing – I can’t really say anything to help. We all have those days. But maybe just... a break in routine would help? A mini-getaway sort of thing. When I used to get overwhelmed like that, I’d take the kids and drive up to my parents’ house for a weekend. Let them spoil the kids for a bit while I took a bit of a breather for myself. You could do that too. You could go visit your parents, or – or, if that’s not possible, or if you just don’t want to, then... you could come here, if you want. Feel free to say no, and to stop me at any time. I ramble when I’m nervous.”

”Tony did too,” Pepper blurts, closing her eyes in horror immediately after the admission. Okay, seriously – what the _hell_ was wrong with her today?!

She takes a deep breath and says, more quietly, “Tony rambled when he was nervous too. I’m used to it. Um – you’re offering to let me come over. To your farm.”

To her credit, Laura doesn’t say anything about her mention of Tony. “I’m offering to have you and Morgan up to the farm, yes. This weekend, if that works for you – and if you want to visit at all, that is. I can take a _no_ for the complete sentence that it is. I won’t ask you to explain yourself if you say no.”

This weekend – today is Wednesday. She could technically fly out Friday evening without disrupting anything major.

“Why?” she asks, suddenly suspicious.

It sounds like Laura is making a shrugging motion. “Because you said everything is wrong, and you sound like you need a break, and I want to help however I can. Give yourself a break, Pepper – parenting is just as worthwhile even if you don’t take the unnecessarily hard and lonely path, I promise. I can’t offer you much that you can’t get on your own, but I can offer you this – a weekend getaway where Morgan can play with Lila and Nate. Lila’s older but she loves younger kids. And Nate is only four years older than Morgan – which is an entire lifetime in kid years, but he’s super sweet.”

”Morgan’s crazy advanced for her age anyway,” Pepper murmurs, tiredly rubbing a hand across her eyes.

“There we go. She’ll fit right in with my crazy hooligans then. And while Morgan gets some time to work out her energy, I can offer you some mostly-shitty but somehow still delicious wine. And I can offer you my company, for whatever it might be worth. You were right when you said we don’t really know each other, and maybe I was being presumptuous – and maybe I’m still being pushy now – but I wouldn’t mind getting to know you. I’d like it very much actually. The truth is, I don’t have very many people to talk to these days either. And from what little I do know of you, you seem like the kind of woman I could get along with.”

Pepper suddenly realizes that Laura had been a single mother too, for long stretches of time when her husband was away Avenging, or with SHIELD. It had been Laura handling the house, the day-to-day parenting, the chores, the bills, and everything else. The nature of their husbands’ jobs meant it was very likely that Laura hadn’t had too many other people to talk to either, aside from Natasha, who had apparently always known the secret of the farm.

And now Natasha was gone too.

If anyone really did know what it was like, what Pepper was going through, even a little bit, it would be Laura.

“You’re really inviting me over.” Pepper chews on her bottom lip anxiously.

it sounds like Laura’s shrugging again. “The farm is still secure, I promise – totally not a security threat, if that’s what you’re worried about,” which, no, had not been Pepper’s point _at all._

“There’s just so much _stuff_ between us – “

“Is there really, though? The Avengers’ bullshit is not our problem. Just because they’re incapable of maintaining decent relationships among themselves, doesn’t mean we have to pick up their baggage and carry it for them. Their issues are their own. I’m sure you and I will find plenty to talk about that doesn’t involve them.”

Pepper chuckles wetly. “Smart. Will your kids be okay with visitors? Shouldn’t you ask them first?”

Laura scoffs. “I’m the one inviting you. I want you here. But like I said, the kids will be thrilled. They could use a change of pace themselves. And there’s enough ways on the farm for Morgan to have fun regardless of what my kids get up to. And I still have all the kids’ books and toys in storage, a whole variety, so Morgan will have her pick of things to do.”

Pepper clears her throat roughly. “And Clint?”

“Clint will deal,” she hears Laura say firmly. “Clint does not dictate who my friends are, Clint does not get to dictate who I invite over.” Laura’s voice doesn’t seem to invite further questions on the topic, so Pepper leaves it be. It wasn’t like it mattered – Laura would deal with Clint, and it wasn’t Pepper’s business to know how.

“It sounds like you’re leaning towards a yes,” Laura observes neutrally.

Pepper startles. “I guess I am,” she laughs nervously. “Okay then. This weekend. Should I fly out early Saturday morning?”

”Friday evening works too. Whatever works better in terms of Morgan’s bedtime and schedule. Just let me know a little bit in advance.”

”Of course.”

”It should only take you an hour and a half at most by quinjet – I’ll send you the coordinates of the farm to this number?”

Pepper nods, then mentally cursing herself, makes an affirmative noise.

”I look forward to it. Seriously, Pepper, I hope this weekend is what we all need. Hey – before I let you go, is there anything I should know about? Allergies? Medications? Anything Morgan particularly loves or hates eating?”

”Just allergies,” Pepper murmurs. “Both Morgan and I are allergic to strawberries. And no – Morgan’s kind of being a picky eater these days, so that’s kind of hit or miss for me too right now. She’s always good with cheeseburgers, though, both homemade and store-bought.”

”Okay. Check for cheeseburgers and no strawberries, got it.”

“I’ll let you know about Friday or Saturday as soon as I can. Laura – thanks. Really, this means a lot, even after I was such a bitch to you.”

Laura scoffs loudly. “Trust me, you were far politer than a lot of people I’ve known. I kind of dropped myself into your life when you were still dealing with a lot, so I should be the one apologizing for that. Not that you’re not dealing with a lot now, but just – oh, I don’t know. Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s all fine. I’m actually excited about this weekend.”

”Me too. See you soon,” Pepper murmurs before clicking off and sitting back in her chair. She’s a bit startled to realize that the words are actually true – she actually is kind of excited for this weekend.

Whether the weekend went well or not, at least it would be something new, and different, and refreshing.

***

Pepper looks out across the field, watching as Lila shows Morgan the different arrows, the bow, the quiver, all of which Morgan is endlessly fascinated by. Pepper would be worried about her five-year-old being near sharp weaponry, but between their garage and Tony’s lab, Morgan has been close to far worse over the years. There were only so many places in the house to hide a vibranium shield or the scraps of an old armor, and Morgan was too curious for her own good.

And Lila did seem to be fairly cautious and responsible, from what Pepper could see.

Laura puts down her glass of wine. “What did you tell Morgan about this place?”

“That we were coming to visit a friend of mine, that I needed a chance to get away from home for the weekend because work was stressing me out. She knows, though. She saw Clint when we landed – she knows who you are. She knows this is Hawkeye’s place. She’s sharp as anything, her brain works so quickly, and she knows who all the Avengers are now – past and present. She’s been doing her research since the funeral.”

She’d seen Clint only briefly when she’d entered the house, and he’d made himself scarce since, after staring at her for what felt like long minutes. She hadn’t known what to make of the moment, so she’d just shaken it off and joined Laura in the kitchen.

“I’m glad I came,” Pepper says, quietly, silently holding her glass out for a refill as Laura bends forward to grab the bottle. It had been a long time since Pepper had allowed herself more than two glasses of wine, and this was about to be her fourth. “Morgan looks happier than she has since Tony. They always had daddy-daughter time together, building stuff, tinkering away. She’s a little tinkerer already, and of course he only encouraged it. She was two, and I swear, I could not walk around the house without tripping over a Lego piece and accidentally breaking my neck.” Pepper huffs a laugh, inwardly marveling that it doesn’t hurt to talk about Tony like this. Of course, it hadn’t really hurt to think or talk about Tony in quite some time, but that was only with Rhodey, or Happy, or the boys – people who had known Tony and loved him as much as her. Pepper had never thought she’d feel as comfortable as she does sitting here talking to Laura Barton about her dead husband.

Laura grins. “I remember that stage, of having toys just _everywhere,_ especially the ones with little tiny pieces that always got lost, and then there was a meltdown the next time the kids wanted to play because _mom, I can’t find the missing pieces!_ They were always under the couch,” she adds, winking conspiratorially. “I’m glad you came, too. I admit, I didn’t just invite you for your sake. I mean I did, but – I like it too. I enjoy being able to sit out here with someone else, just enjoying the sunset. Someone who isn’t my husband.”

“You don’t have friends – “ Pepper winces, covering her mouth with her hand as if that would help her take back the tactless words.

“I do,” Laura says, sipping from her glass, very obviously not offended by Pepper’s slip. “Hard not to have friends when you have three kids with such varied interests. I swear to god, I spent a solid five years there just shuttling Cooper and Lila between different activities. Nate was too young to have any real interests when – “ Laura stutters a little, clearly not wanting to say the word _Snap_ out loud, “ – when things happened. But he’s developing interests now. Nate’s into soccer, which is funny because Coop absolutely hated it. I tried to get him into soccer for so long because I’d read a parenting book that said kids of a certain age needed a physical outlet.”

“Did he ever get that outlet?”

Laura laughs, clear and bright. “Oh yeah. He was into all kinds of wrestling, boxing, MMA – you name it, he wanted to watch the fight on tv or online, however he could manage. We got him into amateur wrestling in a local youth center arena and in the end, Clint just ended up roughhousing more with him, taught him a few sparring moves – purely defensive only.”

Pepper glances sideways at her, but Laura is looking away, off into the distance. “So of course I would get together with the moms at different activities, and we’d talk about kids, school projects, the futures of our kids... the usual drill. But I couldn’t tell them who I was. Our safety and security here was, and technically still is, built on our anonymity. I couldn’t tell the moms my real last name, or why I could never invite them over for tea, or why I lived so far out of the way. I told them my husband was an accountant, because that’s Clint’s SHIELD-issue cover for domestic situations. It was tiny lie stacked on top of tiny lie. I know why I did it, and I wouldn’t do it any differently if it meant giving these kids a normal childhood without putting a target on their backs, and I love Clint enough to stick with him, but it was exhausting, and I was alone in it. Clint was off doing what he did, for days and weeks and sometimes months at a time, and when he came home, he slipped into the house under cover of darkness. People in town just knew that my husband traveled a lot for work managing overseas clients. I got a lot of pitying looks, that I can tell you, in addition to my fair share of unwanted advances. It was essentially like being an army spouse, except people didn’t know that’s what I was, so I didn’t get that kind of respect or consideration. The few times Clint was seen around town, he was using a cover – the same one every time. Professional accountant with a name as different to ‘Clint’ as he could possibly get. But he wasn’t actually around town that often because there was always something going on, with SHIELD, and then later with the Avengers.”

Laura sighs. “And when he came home, we would stay in the house, in our own bubble. And I was alone with the lies, and the fear that he might not come home, that these kids, two and then later three, depended on me. I was alone praying that Clint wouldn’t come home and tell me another story about torture, or brainwashing. You know, I went through a large majority of Nate’s pregnancy alone, and it didn’t even bother me. I was more angry about the fact that Cooper and Lila thought they had to help me than about the fact that _I_ was alone. But you know, worse than being physically alone was just not being able to talk to anyone, not being able to say out loud, ‘hey, my husband’s actually a super-secret government agent and oh, an Avenger, I’m sure you’ve seen him on tv’. Hiding that part of my life and part of myself meant I couldn’t have any real friends unconnected to SHIELD or the Avengers in some capacity. So it’s nice to have you here, because you already know what that kind of life is like. I mean, I don’t know if you understand anonymity, because as CEO of a multinational corporation, I imagine you get very little privacy, let alone anonymity. But at least you understand what it’s like trying not to draw attention to your kids for who their parents are. It’s less lonely now, with Clint home more often,” Laura adds, glancing over in Pepper’s direction.

“I’m sorry.” Pepper has no idea what else to say to the flood of information because, yes, it does sound absolutely exhausting to do that for years. Pepper herself would have done it, for Tony, for Morgan, but Pepper also knows that she would have been more resentful about it than Laura appears to be. She would not be able to talk about keeping up cover identities in quite such a zen way. Then again, Laura might have already worked through the bulk of her resentment and frustration behind closed doors, long before Pepper had ever met her.

“No, hey – I’m sorry for dumping so much on you like that. We’re barely friends, yet, and I suppose it should seem inappropriate, me dumping that kind of shit on you without warning, but honestly, if we’re going to try for friends, we might as well get that hard stuff out of the way right off the bat. Shit, I don’t know,” Laura bites her lip, unsure. “I guess I haven’t really gotten a chance to process things myself. I shouldn’t be trusting you, but fuck if I’m not tired of all the lies and secrets at this point. This farm, it’s supposed to be a safe place, and... I haven’t really talked to anyone like that since... since Natasha, and it wasn’t the same with her,” she finishes quietly.

Pepper’s insides freeze as Laura continues.

“Natasha would come by when Clint was on a mission, stay with me, help with the kids, and just be someone I could talk to. Natasha was extended family, the only one outside of Fury who knew about our secret. She’s Lila’s godmother – they were close. Lila had a hard time with that. She’s Nate’s namesake. She was so bummed about Lila not being named after her, but we’d already picked by the time Natasha became that close to us, so I just said ‘next time’. She would drop by as often as she could to see the kids, to just let them know they were loved by so many people, even if not all of those people could be there all the time. She was as good as Clint, if not better, at getting in and out undetected, and she was someone I could talk to without reservations, because as far as secrecy went, she already knew everything there was to know. There _were_ secrets with her, of course there were, and I never felt like I knew her as well as I wanted to. But I could talk to her. I’d spend hours trying to wheedle classified information out of her, some of which she actually gave me in the end. She always told me when Clint was in danger, even if she technically wasn’t cleared to.” Laura has a wistful look on her face.

Pepper hums noncommittally, fingers clenching around her wine glass just a bit tighter. “I’m... sorry,” she mutters, blankly.

”No, I – “ Laura sighs deep. “I’ll stop. It’s not fair to put all this on you. This is supposed to be your weekend away.”

”It’s kind of nice, actually. You’re being yourself, and it’s refreshing. Everybody else is... exhausting, for different reasons.”

Laura raises an eyebrow. “Even your loved ones?”

Pepper smiles. “It’s nice to have a conversation where Tony isn’t the center of attention.”

Laura goes quiet. “I guess the grass is greener on the other side, huh?” She finally comments. Catching the confused look on Pepper’s face, she elaborates. “I don’t... I can’t really talk about Natasha with anyone. No one really knew her. Just her. Just _Natasha._ Not the SHIELD agent or the spy or the Avenger or the Black Widow. No one really knew who she was in her quietest moments. I got a glimpse, but I don’t really have anyone to share in how much I miss her sometimes. Clint’s grief is a different animal. He knew her differently. He was there, when she – ” Laura clears her throat. “Well. That’s not the only thing Clint and I aren’t connecting over these days.”

Pepper fidgets awkwardly, her typical poise completely failing her. “I’m – not really sure how much help I can be, to you. About this. I didn’t know Natasha either, and frankly – ” Pepper swallows. “Frankly, based on what little I did know of Natasha, I didn’t much like her. I can’t in good conscience pretend to be sympathetic to her memory as I sit here – but if you need a listener, I can try. I can do that.”

”No, it’s okay.” Laura pensively chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “Can I – “ she breaks off, looking uncomfortable. “Can I ask why? I mean I do know Natasha wasn’t the warmest person, and I’m aware her hands weren’t exactly clean – ”

“Dirtier than you know.” A dark look passes over Pepper’s face “Look, Laura, you don’t want to know. It won’t help. It doesn’t matter,” Pepper says, not unkindly.

”I do want to know,” Laura insists stubbornly. “It might not matter, but I do want to know.”

“I just think that death isn’t an automatic excuse to be forgiven,” Pepper bursts out with a readiness that surprises herself. “Natasha was a lot of things to a lot of people. She was an Avenger and a SHIELD agent and a friend. To you, she was your confidante and family. She was your children’s godmother. To Clint, she was a partner and an equal. I think they had a bond no one will ever truly understand. To the world, she’s considered a hero – as she should be. But to me... to me, she will always be the woman who spied on my husband, lied to him multiple times, looked down at him, compounded his trust issues, and betrayed him at every opportunity she got. Natasha will always be the woman who hurt my husband without once looking back and apologizing for any of it. I truly appreciate her sacrifice, but it doesn’t cancel out the lasting impressions of the damage she did to Tony – and to me.”

”I think she was doing her best, in the middle of tough situations,” Laura muttered, though she looked unsure as she squinted at Pepper’s weirdly serene face.

”Her best wasn’t very good then, was it? Nice of her to belittle Tony at every turn while acting like her own shit didn’t stink. I know Tony was no saint, god knows I know that – but I’m not willing to confer sainthood on Natasha and wipe away all her sins just because she happens to be dead now. Tony’s shitty behavior doesn’t excuse anyone else’s – it doesn’t excuse Natasha’s. I’m not angry, not really – but Natasha’s _death_ doesn’t mean I have to posthumously give her a clean slate and rewrite her history with my family. If we are the sum of all our choices, then one good decision at the end of Natasha’s life doesn’t overwrite all the bad ones she made. I miss her and I’m grateful to her – the way I would miss and be grateful to the idea of any hero that saved the world. But no more than that.”

”This is personal to you,” Laura observes quietly. “You are angry – you say you’re not, but you are. You’re angry about something Natasha did and you’ll never stop being angry about it.”

Laura’s tone is surprisingly judgement-free, and it makes Pepper want to flush with shame and scratch at her skin.

“I’m... resentful.” The honesty from herself startles Pepper. “I’m less _angry_ than I am resentful about the fact that the world thinks it’s appropriate for me to bury the hatchet with Natasha, just because she’s _gone_ now. I mean, Tony’s gone, but there’s no end of people who will never forgive him his sins regardless – including your husband, I’m sure.”

“Do you really care about what the world thinks?” Laura asks, ignoring the slur against her husband. Privately, Laura thought Clint deserved a little condemnation for his double-standard way of looking at the world, but that wasn’t the point right now.

”No?” Pepper squints. “But yes. It matters more now.”

”Because of Morgan,” Laura says sagely.

“Funny what we’ll do for our children. What we’ll do to teach them. I don’t want Morgan growing up thinking her forgiveness is guaranteed or owed. Living life by debts is not what I want to teach my child.”

“What – what happened?” Laura’s voice is as quiet as it’s ever gone. “What one thing made you so – _resentful._ What did Natasha _do._ ”

Pepper swallows. The fact is, she won’t acknowledge even to herself is that she’s _bitter._ Not just angry or resentful, but bitter.

”She knew,” is what Pepper says at last.

”Knew what?” Laura’s brow furrows.

”She knew about Tony’s parents and how they died. She knew about the Winter Soldier. And in her infinite _wisdom,_ she chose not to tell Tony anyway. There’s proof that she knew – it’s circumstantial proof, but it’s still proof.”

Laura stared at her, blank with shock.

“She knew,” Pepper repeats, sounding more heartbroken than ever. “Even if it hadn’t been _Tony_ who got hurt in that whole mess, I could still never think kindly of a woman who concealed emotionally relevant information from _anyone._ There isn’t a soul on this earth so horrible that they don’t deserve to know the truth about how their parents died. That’s what I believe. And that’s the choice your dear Natasha made _for_ Tony. There is no reasonable, moral, humane reason that justifies why Natasha kept that information secret. She was manipulative to everyone that wasn’t you. She was unkind. That might not be how you related to her, but that’s my reality.”

”I’m sorry.” Laura looked miserable, hunched in on herself.

”She was your friend,” Pepper offers softly. “That doesn’t mean she was a good person. And you don’t need to apologize. Natasha made her choices. _You_ shouldn’t have to apologize for them. She’s gone now. So is Tony. They made their choices, and we don’t need to live and die by those choices. I’m sorry for your loss... I truly am. I’m sorry. I won’t speak ill of the dead anymore.” 

”Sounds like you might have a real reason to,” Laura counters.

”Sounds like I might be... what’s the word?”

”Tactless,” Laura grins, pouring them both more wine.

”That. Thanks.”

”This isn’t easy,” Laura shrugs. “The world ended. We disappeared. _We turned into dust._ I hate Clint for what he turned into. I hate the fact that Ronin was in him to begin with. I hate the fact that I _knew_ and I married him anyway. I hate the fact that I always ignored some very real red flags in my marriage. I don’t regret my marriage itself. I just... should’ve known what I was getting into, and then done better when I was it it.”

”But you love him.”

”But I love him.”

Pepper swipes a hand across her forehead and shrugs morosely. “Despite his flaws, I love Tony. And his flaws aren’t a big enough deal for me. I’m angrier _for_ him than with him.”

“Either way, it’s not easy,” Laura muses understandingly. “No one, not even the people we love, let alone everyone else around us are owed our forgiveness.”

Pepper snorts. “But the world expects it anyway.”

”Let this be the place that you let yourself be mad then,” Laura says. “Let this be the place where you allow yourself to feel angry.”

Pepper eyes her warily, skeptically. “And you’re okay with that. Even if it means Natasha or Clint is the one I’m angry with?”

Laura’s eyes are warm. ”I wouldn’t be a very good friend to you, Pepper, if I wasn’t supportive of your need to be angry. And independent of anything else, I’d like to think we can be friends like that. I need a friend, and so do you. It’s that easy. A lot of other things are complicated, but this can be easy. It’s time we stopped letting dead people, misinformed people, and stupid people dictate our actions. Even when they happen to be our spouses. So. Do you want to be my friend, Pepper?”

Pepper doesn’t hesitate. “God. Yes. Yes, I really do.”

”Good,” Laura says, pleased.

”I really do,” Pepper says again, shooting the other woman a brilliant smile and watching it be returned.

 _It’s that easy,_ Laura had said, and god, Pepper thought, maybe it really could be.

***

One year later, Pepper finds that the more she’s _allowed_ to be angry, the less she actually is all the time.

It’s the two-year mark, and this time they all come back – all the ones that are left.

And if Pepper’s still secretly glad that Captain America’s not one of the ones that are still around, then that’s between her and the wine Laura now buys just for them.

But everyone else comes back, and this time, they aren’t just there for Tony.

The boys call her Pepper, but late at night when they think she’s asleep, they call her Mama and Morgan their sister.

When Pepper asks about it later, they both say that having more mother-figures in their lives isn’t a bad thing.

Morgan sleeps curled into her Auntie Laura’s side that night.

Pepper spends a few hours drinking wine with Sam, hearing about his work with the VA and how a retired Rhodey was helping him find and distribute service dogs to compromised vets.

Clint comes to talk to her for a short while and apologizes for Wanda. He tells her Wanda’s past caught up with her and she was put to death in her own country. He tells her that he’d made the wrong call, all those years ago.

Pepper says she knows what it feels like to be conflicted and compromised, but that she’s not the one Clint owes an apology to.

Clint apologizes to Rhodey for the comment he made while in the Raft.

He doesn’t try to apologize for anything Natasha may or may not have done, and for that, Pepper can only be grateful.

They are all done meddling in the affairs of dead people.

Laura smiles at her from across the room, a silent promise to be her best friend and anchor for as long as forever lasted.

Phil is one she doesn’t see again, but Nick Fury comes up to her to let her know that her lakeside cabin is as protected as the Barton’s farm.

it’s not really an apology, but it’s enough, Pepper thinks. She wasn’t the one Fury owed an apology to anyway.

Morgan tells her later that a funny guy with an eyepatch had told her that her dad deserved better than he’d gotten. Morgan tells her that eyepatch-guy had a constipated look on his face, like he was forcing the words out, but that he’d said them anyway.

May Parker comes up to her to tell her she’s doing great. She carries the aura of a woman who knows what it feels like to lose her entire world but then keep on anyway.

The Guardians’ spaceship touches down on the grass at the very edge of the propert, and Pepper meets an anxious Nebula with a crushing hug as soon as the hatch opens.

Pepper becomes the recipient of a crushing hug of her own when Bruce-Hulk finds her and lifts her up.

Rhodey has tears in his eyes when he introduces her to Captain Marvel and the other new superheroes that will soon become Avengers.

While the fireworks burst across the sky and Pepper looks out across the land that is _hers_ now, Happy gives her the hardest hug he ever has, and Pepper lets herself hide in the space between his head and his shoulder for a bit, before she steps out into this big, brave, bold new world.

”We deserve to be happy,” is what she says when she pulls away, giving Happy a teary-eyed but significant look.

She gathers Morgan into her arms and squeezes extra tight for a minute, and then two and then three.

It’s just them, now – and as it turns out, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe, everyone x


End file.
